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By    THEODORE    WINTHROP    ^   <i^ 

TO    WHICH     ARE     NOW     FIRST     ADDED     HIS 


Edited,  with  an  Introduction  and  Notes, 


jiuthor  of  "  The  Mountain  that  Was  'God'."  "The  Guardians 
of  the  Columbia,  "  etc. 






Copyright,  1913,  by  John  H.  Williams 

Press  of 

Franklin- Ward  Company, 

Portland,  Oregon. 




"Ah,  did  you  once  see  Shelley  plain, 
And  did  he  stop  and  speak  to  you, 

And  did  you  speak  to  him  again  ? 
How  strange  it  seems  and  new!'' 



Indian  Graveyard  on  the  Cowlitz  River;  Illustrating  Canoe   Burial. 


Theodore  Wintjirop's  celebrated  romance  of  frontier  adventure 
has  been  out  of  print  for  some  years,  but  the  frequent  calls  for  a  new 
edition,  properly  illustrated,  testify  to  its  abiding  charm  and  value. 
In  undertaking  such  an  edition,  I  have  felt  that  a  book  which  seems 
destined  to  remain  the  chief  classic  of  our  early  Northwest  deserves 
most  careful  editing  and  very  generous  illustration.  The  reprint  here 
presented,  with  its  addition  of  the  author's  letters  and  journals,  cover- 
ing his  entire  stay  on  the  Pacific  Coast,  and  with  illustrations  selected 
from  a  wide  field,  will  doubtless  appeal  to  an  even  larger  circle  of  readers 
than  that  which  welcomed  "The  Canoe  and  the  Saddle"  on  its  first 
appearance,  fifty  years  ago. 

In  annotating  the  author's  text,  my  aim  has  been,  without  over- 
loading the  volume,  to  give  such  explanations  and  such  quotations 
from  the  authorities  as  may  be  needed  to  render  the  book  wholly  in- 
telligible to  distant  readers,  who  may  know  nothing  of  the  Siwash 
and  his  home,  and  little  of  Northwestern  history.  The  illustrations 
are  of  several  sorts.  First  of  all,  the  book  is  a  picture  of  the  great  stage 
set  by  Nature  for  the  drama  of  state-building.  Hence  many  of  the 
pictures  are  of  noble  scenery.  That  the  book  might  show  Winthrop's 
route  from  Western  to  Eastern  Washington,  as  well  as  the  famous  "Citi- 
zens' Road"  which  so  greatly  interested  him,  I  made  a  trip  during  the 
last  summer  across  the  Naches  Pass  with  an  expert  photographer. 
We  were  fortunate  in  obtaining  a  number  of  remarkable  views  of  a 
region  never  before  photographed, —  views  of  mountain,  canyon  and 
forest  that  will  aid  readers  to  travel  with  Winthrop  through  a  wonder- 
ful district  now  almost  unvisited. 

But  "Canoe  and  Saddle"  is  more  than  a  nature  book.  As  a  brilliant 
snap-shot  picture  of  frontier  conditions,  I  have  tried  to  illustrate  it 
very  largely  from  historical  sources.  The  pictures  of  Indian  life  and 
historic  places  and  persons  will  be  found  unusually  full  and  valuable. 
In  the  table  of  illustrations,  care  has  been  taken  to  give  credit  to  those 
who  have  kindly  aided  me  in  collecting  these  interesting  pictures  of 
pioneer  days  and  leaders. 

I  am  greatly  indebted  to  the  author's  family  for  tjheir  kindness  in 
placing  his  letters  and  journals  at  my  disposal.  Thanks  are  also  due 
to  General  Hodges  and  Colonel  Allen  for  their  reminiscences,  printed 

viii  PREFACE. 

at  the  end  of  this  volume;  to  Mr.  George  H.  Himes,  secretary  of  the 
Oregon  Historical  Society,  Portland;  Mr.  W.  H.  Gilstrap,  of  the  Wash- 
ington State  Historical  Society  and  Ferry  Museum,  Tacoma,  and  Mr. 
E.  O.  S.  Scolefield,  of  the  Provincial  Library  and  Museum,  Victoria, 
B.  C,  for  the  valuable  assistance  they  have  given  me  in  collecting 
illustrations  and  verifying  data.  The  New  York  Public  Library,  which 
owns  the  Winthrop  MSS.,  has  kindly  supplied  desired  fac-similes. 
The  American  Museum  of  Natural  History,  in  New  York,  and  the 
National  Museum,  Washington,  D.  C,  have  contributed  many  illus- 
trations of  Indian  life  and  antiquities.  I  have  quoted  freely,  with 
acknowledgment,  from  the  two  most  important  works  dealing  with 
the  early  years  of  our  State, —  General  Hazard  Stevens's  life  of  his 
father  and  Mr.  C.  A.  Snowden's  history, — and  am  also  under  obligations 
to  these  authors  for  counsel  and  aid  in  many  other  ways.  Dr.  C.  M. 
Buchanan,  of  the  Tulalip  Agency,  has  greatly  increased  the  value  of 
the  book  by  his  advice  in  matters  of  Indian  philology  and  lore. 

Save  for  a  few  typographical  errors  and  obvious  repetitions  which 
Winthrop  would  doubtless  have  corrected  himself  had  he  lived  to  edit 
his  manuscript,  the  text  of  "Canoe  and  Saddle"  is  reprinted  in  its  orig- 
inal form.  The  spelling  is  not  always  that  of  to-day,  especially  in  the 
matter  of  Indian  names;  but  its  quaintness  is  worth  more  than  con- 
formity to  modern  standards.  The  spelling  of  Indian  words  was,  of 
course,  a  phonetic  go-as-you-please  in  his  time,  and  has  not  yet  become 
so  clearly  settled  as  to  give  us  established  forms  for  more  than  a  frac- 
tion of  such  words.  Thus  in  the  text  and  notes  will  be  found  half  a 
dozen  different  spellings  for  "Naches,"  with  almost  as  many  for  other 
words.  Until  the  publications  of  our  Government  adopt  a  standard, 
uniformity  in  these  words  cannot  be  hoped  for.  In  the  notes,  I  have 
used  the  forms  which  seem  to  be  supported  by  the  best  current  usage, 
but  have  not  attempted  to  make  over  the  spelling  of  the  several  con- 
tributors to  the  volume. 

It  has  seemed  desirable  to  preserve  Winthrop's  own  title,  "Klalam 
and  Klickatat."  I  have  therefore  used  it  in  connection  with  the  title 
substituted  by  the  original  publishers.  The  design  on  the  cover  of  the 
volume  is  the  coat  of  arms  of  the  Winthrop  family. 

Tacoma,  Oct.  15,  1913. 




I.     AN  ENTRANCE 3 

II.     A  KLALAM  GRANDEE  ....       5 



V.     FORESTS  OF  THE  CASCADES         •-            -            -  66 

VI.    "BOSTON  TILICUM"         -            .            -            .  90 

VII.     TACOMA 99 

VIII.    SOWEE  HOUSE.—  LOOLOWCAN            -           -  123 

IX.     VIA  MALA         ......  138 

X.     TREACHERY 150 

XI.     KAMAIAKAN 163 

XII.    LIGHTNING  AND  TORCHLIGHT        -           -  185 

XIII.     THE  DALLES.—  THEIR  LEGEND    -            -            -  200 




II.     THE  NORTHWEST            ....  240 



Fac-siraile  of  Winthrop's  Title.     This  was  changed  by  the  publishers  to  "The 
Canoe  and  the  Saddle." 



IN  TACOMA  HARBOR  ...  -        Frontspiece. 

From  a  painting  by  Sidney  Lawrence,  owned  by  ISIrs.  George  Browne, 
of  Tacoma.      Colored   engraving   copyrighted   by   J.    H.    "Williams. 

MOUNT  BAKER,  FROM  PORT  TOWNSEND  -        Facing  20 

Admiralty  Inlet  and  "Whidbey  Island   in  foregroimd.     After  a  pho- 
tograph  by   P.    M.    Richardson. 

View  from  Victoria,  B.  C.     After  a  photograph  by  Fleming    Bro- 

SEATTLE  HARBOR  AT  SUNSET         -  -  -  -        32 

After  a  photograph    by  Webster  &  Stevens. 

THE  "SIWASH  HOOIHUT"  .  _  -  .  81 

After  a  photograph  by  Curtis  &    Miller. 


Northeast  slope  of  Mt.  Rainier-Tacoma.    Named  in  honor  of  Theo- 
dore "Winthrop.     After  a  photograph  by  Dr.  B.  R.  Stevens. 



After  a  photograph  by  Curtis  &    Miller. 


After  a  photograph  by  A.  M.  Potter  of  baskets  owned    by    Mrs. 
Clinton  A.  Snowden  and  the  Ferry  Museum,   Tacoma. 


After  a  photograph  by  E.   F.    Colville. 

"LE  PLAY  HOUSE" 180 

Ruins  of  the  Atinam  Mission.    After  a  photograph  by  Curtis  &  Miller. 

YAKIMA  RUG-MAKER  ....  185 

After  a  photograph  by  Major  Lee  Moorhouse, 

MOUNT  ADAMS,  SEEN  FROM  SUNNYSIDE        -  -  193 

After   a    photograph    by    Asahel    Curtis,    copyright. 

SUNSET  ON  THE  COLUMBIA  -  -  -  -        204 

After  a  photograph  by  S.  C.  Lancaster,  copyright. 

After  a  photograph  by  Benjamin  A.  GiflPord,  copyright. 

*  Excepting  the  first,  these  are  from  water-color  paintings  by  Jud- 
8on  T.   Sergeant,  based  on  photographs. 


THE  COLUMBIA  AND  MOUNT  SAINT  HELENS         -  -  .  240 

From  near  Portland.     After  a  photograph  by  S.  C.  Reeves. 

SIWASH  BOATMEN  OF  WHULGE  -  -  .  276 

After  a  photograph  by  Asahel  Cxxrtis,  copyright. 


THEODORE  WINTHROP  -  -  -  Facing    XIX 

Last  portrait  of  the  author,  made  after  a  serious  illness  during  the 
Winter  of  1860-'61,  and  never  before  published;  a  photograph  taken 
on  metal  by  Lewis  Rutherford,  the  celebrated  astronomer.  By 
courtesy    of   the    Author's    Family. 


From  a  painting  by  Captain  Cleveland  Rockwell,  owned  by  the  Mer- 
chants'   National   Bank,   of  Portland,   Ore. 


From  Commodore  Wilkes's  Exploration  of  1845. 


By  courtesy  of  the  National  Museum,  Washington,  D.  C. 

AMONG  THE  SAN  JUAN  ISLANDS      -  -  -  28 

Photograph   by   Webster  &   Stevens. 

FORT  STEILACOOM  _  -  ...         35 

By  courtesy  of  the  Library  of  the  University  of  Washington. 

FORT  NISQUALLY  .....  37 

From  a  drawing  made  about  1868  by  Edmund  T.  Coleman,  an  Eng- 
lish landscape  artist  then  living  at  Victoria,  B.  C.  By  courtesy  of 
the   Washington   State   Historical   Society,    Tacoma. 


From  a  drawing  made  about  1868  by  Edmund  T.  Coleman,  showing 
this  broad  outwash  plain  almost  treeless  as  a  result  of  Indian  fires  set 
from  time  to  time  to  keep  back  the  Forest  and  increase  the  growth  of 
grass  for  the  deer.     By  courtesy  of  Mr.  D.  W.  Huggins. 

From   a   drawing   made   about   the   time   of  Winthrop's   visit.      By 
courtesy  of  the   Provincial   Library  and   Museum,   Victoria. 

ON  THE  NISQUALLY  PRAIRIE  TO-DAY         -  -  49 

Photograph  by  Andrew  J.   Stone. 

AMONG  THE  DOUGLAS  FIRS  ....         60 

Photograph  by   Curtis  &   Miller. 


Photograph  by  Curtis  &  Miller. 


Photograph   by   Curtis   &   ^liller. 


Photograph  by  Curtis  &  IMiller. 

Photograph  by  Curtis  &  Miller. 



Photograph  by   W.   H.   Gilstrap. 

A  STALWART  YOUNG  CEDAR        ....         88 
Photograph  by   Curtis   &   Miller. 

THE  "BOSTON  HOOIHUT"        -  -  -  .  96 

Photograph   by   Curtis   &   IMiller. 

OVERLOOKING  NACHES  PASS  (2)  -  -  102-103 

Photograph    by    Curtis    &    IMiller. 


Photograph    by    Curtis    &    jNIiller. 

MOUNTAIN  MEADOW  IN  THE  NACHES  PASS    -  -       111 

Photograph    by    Curtis    &    Miller. 

INDIAN  SWEAT-HOUSE  .  -  .  .  126 

Photograph  by  Major  Lee  Moorhouse,  who  writes:  "This  sweat- 
house  picture  was  made  on  the  Umatilla  Indian  reservation  a  few 
years  ago.  The  sweat-house  is  universally  used  among  all  the  North- 
west tribes  of  Indians.  In  fact,  no  well-regulated  teepee  is  complete 
without  a  sweat-house  near.  It  is  the  cure-all  with  the  Indians  for  all 
kinds  of  disease  and  sickness,  and  is  used  as  a  means  of  ordinary 
cleanUness  as   well. 

"  The  sweat-house  cure  for  the  measles  was  one  of  the  principal 
factors  that  brought  on  the  Whitman  massacre  in  1847.  Just  prior  to 
the  massacre,  the  Indians  at  the  mission  and  near  by  broke  out  with 
the  measles,  and  Dr.  Whitman  administered  medicine  to  them. 
They  would  take  the  medicine,  then  go  into  their  sweat-houses,  re- 
main as  long  as  they  could  stand  the  heat,  and  then  plunge  from  the 
sweat-houses  into  the  icy  cold  waters  of  the  Walla  Walla  river,  and 
bob  up  dead.     Hence  Dr.  Whitman  was  accused  of  poisoning  them." 

Photograph    by    Curtis    &    Miller. 


Photograph    by   E.    F.    Colville. 


COE  -  -  ...  -  .       161 

With  apple-tree  planted  by  Fathers  d'Herbomez  and  Pandosy.  Pho- 
tograph  by   E.   F.   Colville. 

YAKIMA  VALLEY  AND  MOUNT  ADAMS       -  -  172 

i'hotograph  by  Curtis  &  Miller. 

THE  "HORSE-HEAVEN"  COUNTRY  -  -  -       197 

Photograph  by  A.  J.  Anderson. 

BAD  LANDS  OF  THE  COLUMBIA        -  -  -  200 

Photograph  by  Geo.  M.  Weister,  copyright. 

OLD  FORT  WALLA  WALLA  -  -  -  -       208 

From  Governor  Stevens's  Railway  Report,  of  1854;  after  a  draw- 
ing by   Stanley. 


Photograph   by    Major   Lee    Moorhouse. 

PETROGLYPHS  NEAR  CELILO  FALLS       -  -  -       218 

Photograph  by   Major  Lee  Moorhouse. 


THE  GRAND  COULEE  ....  221 

From  Governor  Stevens's  Railway  Report,  of  1854;  after  a  drawing 
by  Stanley. 

SAN  FRANCISCO  IN  1853     -  -  -  -  -       227 

From  an  old  print;  by  courtesy  of  Mr.  Clinton  A.  Snowden. 

FRONT  STREET,  PORTLAND,  IN  1852  -  -  243 

From  an  old  photograph  owned  by  the  Oregon  Historical  Society. 

ASTORIA  IN  THE  EARLY  FORTIES  -  -  -       244 

From   Wilkes's  Exploration  of  1845. 

FORT  VANCOUVER  IN  1853     -  -  -  -  250 

From  Governor  Stevens's  Railway  Report,  1854;  reproducing  a 
drawing  by  Gustave  Sohon. 


RING  -  .  .  -  .  .       259 

Photograph  by  the  National  ^Museum,  Washington,   D.  C. 


CASCADES     - 261 

Photograph  by   Geo.   M.   Weister.  Copyright. 


POINT,  NEAR  OLYMPIA  -  -  -  -       264 

Photograph  by  Collier.     Copyright. 


The  large  island  on  the  right  is  Lummi  Island,  that  in  the  distance 
beyond   is  Cypress.     Photograph  by  F.  G.  Hall. 


Chief  of  Umatilla  Indian  PoUce.  Photograph  by  Major  Lee  Moor- 

Photograph  by  Major  Lee  Moorhoiise. 

CADES OF  THE  COLUMBIA  -  -  -  -  289 
Photograph  by  C.  E.  Watkins,  1867,  owned  by  the  Oregon  His- 
torical Society.  There  were  two  blockhouses  at  the  Cascades. 
This  \aew  shows  the  Middle  Blockhouse,  erected  in  the  fall  of 
1855,  between  the  Upper  and  Lower  Cascades.  Around  it  the  battle 
of  the  Cascades  was  fought  on  March  26,  1856.  It  was  washed 
away  by  a  flood  in  1S76.  The  Upper  Blockhouse  was  built  the 
next  November. 

THE  DALLES,  OREGON,  IN  1865  -  -  -  292 

Fort  Dalles,  where  Winthrop  was  twice  entertained  in  1853,  is  seen  on 
the  ridge  a  mile  back  of  the  town,  toward  Mt.  Hood.  By  coiu-- 
tesy  of  the  Old  Fort  Dalles  Historical  Society. 

THE  DALLES  OF  THE  COLUMBIA  -  -  -       297 

Photograph  by  Geo.  M.  Weister.     Copyright. 


View  from  Powder  River  Valley.     Photograph  by  Geo.  M.  Weister. 


From  a  contemporary   lithograph.      Courtesy  of  Overland  Monthly. 




From   "Wanderings  of   An  Artist,"   by  Paul  Kane,   London,   1859. 


By  courtesy  of  the  New  York  Public  Library. 


After  a  portrait  by  Rowse. 


By  courtesy  of  the  New  Yorli  Public  Library. 


From  drawing  by  "Porte  Crayon,"  in  Harper's  Magazine,  1873. 


From  original  in  Ferry  Museum,  Tacoma. 

QUEEN  VICTORIA:     One  of  the  wives  of  the  Duke  of  York        18 
From  Nordhofl's  "Northern  CaUfornia,  Oregon,"  etc.,   1874. 

MAKAH  SQUAW  GATHERING  FAGOTS     -  -  -         23 

From  photograph  by  Curtis  &  MiUer. 


From  Nordhofl's    "Northern  California,  Oregon,"  etc. 

RETURN  OF  SIWASH  FISHERMEN     -  -  -  28 

From  photograph  by  Curtis  &  Miller. 

CASCADES   OF   THE    COLUMBIA,  with    Indians    Fishing 

from  a  Scaffolding  over  the  water.       -  -  .  29 

From  drawing   by   "Porte   Crayon,"   in  Harper's    Monthly   Maga- 
zine, 1873. 

SE-AT-TLH:     Chief  of  the  Duwamish  and  Suquamish  Federa- 

ation,  after  whom  the  City  of  Seattle  was  named     -  -         32 

From  photograph  owned  by  Mr.  C.  B.  Bagley. 


By  courtesy  of  the  American  Museum  of  Natural  History. 

DR.    WILLIAM    ERASER   TOLMIE,    Hudson's   Bay   Factor 

in  charge  at  Fort  Nisqually  -  -  -  -         45 

From  a  portrait  made  in  the  Fifties.     By  courtesy  of  Mr.  John 
W.  Tolmie. 

EDWARD    HUGGINS,     Last   Factor   of   the   Hudson's   Bay 

Company  at  Fort  Nisqually    -  -  -  -  47 

From  a  daguerreotype  of  the  Fifties.     By  coiutesy  of  Mr.  D.  W. 

COLONEL  MICHAEL  T.  SIMMONS:     Indian  Agent  -  49 

By  courtesy  of  the  Washington  State  Historical  Society,  Tacoma. 

OW-HI,  A  Chief  of  the  Yakimas   -  -  -  -  52 

From  a  drawing  by  Governor  Stevens's  German  soldier-artist,  Gus- 
tavo  Sohon,   4th   U.   S.    Infantry.      Sohon   was  a  highly  intelligent 

*  Save  for  a  few  reproductions  of  old  wood-cuts,  these  are  from  drawings 
by  Judson  T.  Sergeant  and  WilUam  A.  Bull  from  originals  or  photographs. 


and  versatile  man.  To  his  pencil  we  owe  the  well-known  picture 
of  Fort  Vancouver,  facing  page  250.  He  accompanied  Governor 
Stevens  on  his  treatj--making  expeditions,  acting  both  as  artist  and 
as  interpreter;  and  on  these  occasions  sketched  the  great  Indian 
leaders.  Unlike  most  contemporary  artists  who  attempted  to  depict 
the  Indians,  he  made  no  attempt  to  dress  them  up  in  conventional 
war-paint  and  feathers.  His  drawings  preserve  for  us  all  the  promi- 
nent chiefs  of  the  Columbia  River  tribes,  of  whom  we  have  no  other 
portraits.  Some  of  them,  notably  this  one  of  Ow-hi,  admirably 
suggest  the  character  of  the  subjects,  as  described  by  Winthrop 
and  other  writers.  Gen.  Hazard  Stevens  has  very  kindly  placed  these 
portraits  at  my  disposal,  and  I  have  reproduced  such  of  them  as  show 
the  chiefs  mentioned  by  Winthrop,  with  a  few  other  leaders  also 
prominent  in   the   Indian   War   of  the   Fifties. 


By  courtesy  of  the  American   Museum   of  Natural   History. 


By  Judson  T.  Sergeant. 

CARVED  WOOD  TAMANOUS  AND  WAND  -  -         72 

From  original  in  Ferry  Museum,  Tacoma.  Height,  4  feet,  6  inches. 


From  original  in  Ferry  Museum,  Tacoma.     Height,  5  feet,  8  inches. 

BRIG.  GEN.  HENRY  C.  HODGES,  U.  S.  A.  -  -         87 

From  photograph  made  in  1861.     By  courtesy  of  Gen.   Hodges. 


This  house,  at  Inati  on  Hood's  Canal,  was  forty  by  two  hundred  feet 
in  size.  The  late  Myron  Eells,  who  spent  many  years  among  the 
Skokoraish   Indians,   describes  the  Potlatch  as  follows; 

"The  Potlatch  is  the  greatest  festival  the  Indian  has.  'Potlatch' is 
a  Chinook  word,  and  means  'to  give.'  The  central  idea  of  it  is  a  dis- 
tribution of  gifts  by  a  few  persons  to  the  many  present  whom  they 
have  incited.  It  is  generally  intertribal,  from  four  hundred  to  two 
thousand  persons  being  present.  From  one  to  ten  thousand  dollars 
in  money,  blankets,  guns,  canoes,  cloth,  and  the  like  are  given  away. 
Three  Potlatches  have  been  held  at  Skokomish  within  fifteen  years, 
and  during  the  same  time,  as  far  as  I  know,  the  tribe  have  been 
invited  to  nine  others. 

"The  giving  is  carried  to  an  extreme.  In  order  to  obtain  the 
money  to  give,  they  deny  themselves  so  much  for  years,  live  in  old 
houses  and  in  so  poor  a  way,  that  the  self-denial  becomes  an  enemy 
to  health,  civihzation  and  Christianity.  If  they  would  take  the 
money,  improve  land,  build  good  houses,  furnish  them,  and  live  de- 
cently, it  would  be  far  better." 

After  showing  how  the  Potlatches  commonly  led  to  orgies  of 
gambUng,  red  and  black  tamanous,  and  drunkeness,  Mr.  Eclls  con- 
tinues; "When  some  Alaska  Indians,  seeing  the  prosperity  which 
the  Christian  Indians  of  that  region  had  acquired,  asked  what  they 
must  do  to  become  Christians,  the  reply  was;  'First,  give  up  your 
Potlatches.'  It  was  felt  that  there  was  so  much  evil  connected  with 
them  that  they  and  Christianity  could  not  flourish  together.  Among 
the  Twanas,  while  they  are  not  dead,  they  are  largely  on  the  wane. 
Among  the  Clallams,  they  still  flourish." — Ten  Years  of  Missionary 
Work  Among  the  Indians  of  Skokomish,  by  Rev.  M.  Eells,  Boston,  1886. 

EDWARD  JAY  ALLEN:   Leader  of  the  Road  Builders  -         -  94 

From  photograph  about  the  time  of  the  Civil  War.  By  courtesy 
of  Col.  Allen. 


YAKIMA  STONE  COOKING  POTS        -  .  .  98 

From  photograph  by  the  American  Museum  of  Natural  History, 
New  York. 

CARVED  STONE  IMAGE,  from  the  Lower  Columbia  Valley       105 
From  photograph  by  American  Museum  of  Natural    History,    Now 

HIAQUA,   the  Wampum,   or  Shell   Money,   of  the  Northwest       108 

TA-WITS-POO,  a  Squaw  -  -  -  -  -       121 

Pliotograph  by  Major  Lee  Moorhouse. 

A  SIWASH  CRADLE        -  -  -  .  .  122 

From  Nordhoff's  "Northern  California,  Oregon,"  etc.,  1874. 


By  courtesy  of  the  American  Museum  of  Natural   History,   N.   Y. 

YAKIMA    SCULPTURED    AND     INLAID     STONE     PIPE       137 
Made  of  steatite  with  wooden  stem.     One-half  natural  size.     From 
Smith's  "Archaeology  of  the  Yakima  Valley." 

GEN.  GEORGE  B.  McCLELLAN  ...  143 

From  a  published  portrait  of  the  early  Civil  War  period. 


From  Smith's  "Archaeology  of  the  Yakima  Valley."  One-third 
natural  size. 


Photograph  by  Harlan  Smith.  By  courtesy  of  the  American  Mu- 
seum of  Natural  History,  New  York. 

WAKE  MA:    Aged  Klickitat  Squaw      -  -  -  -       157 

From  photograph  by  Major  Lee  Moorhouse. 


By  courtesy  of  the  Rev.  P.  Le  Chesne,  O.  M.  I. 

FATHER  L.  D'HERBOMEZ  -  -  -  -       176 

By  courtesy  of  the  Rev.  P.  Le  Chesne,  O.  M.  I. 

KAM-AI-A-KAN:     Head  Chief  of  the  Yakimas       -  -  179 

From  a  drawing  by  Gustave  Sohon.  By  courtesy  of  Gen.  Hazard 
Stevens.  "Kamiahkan  of  the  Yakimas,  was  easily  the  greatest  chief 
present,"  says  Snowden  of  Governor  Stevens's  treaty  council  at 
Walla  Walla.  "He  was  to  the  tribes  west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains 
what  Pontiac  and  Tecumpseh  had  been  to  their  people  on  the  east- 
ern side,  in  their  time." — Snowden;  History  of  Washington,  III  296. 

CARVED  STONE  PIPE,  from  Grave  near  Fort  Simcoe  -       199 

By  courtesy  of  American  Museum  of  Natural  History,  New  York. 
One-half  natural  size. 

SKLOO:  a  Chief  of  the  Yakimas     -  -  -  -  202 

From  a  drawing  by  Gustave  Sohon.  By  courtesy  of  Gen.  Hazard 

PU-PU-MOX-MOX:    YELLOW  SERPENT,  Walla  Walla  Chief      204 
From  drawing  by  Gustave  Sohon.  Courtesy  of  Gen.  Hazard  Stevens. 

INDIAN  HOUSE  OF  SLABS,  on  the  Columbia  -  -  219 

Photograph  by  Major  Lee  Moorhouse. 


ANIMAL-SHAPED  BOWL  CARVED  IN  LAVA        -  -        222 

From  Smith's  "Archaeology  of  the  Yakima  Valley."     By  courtesy 
of  the  American  Museum  of  Natural  History,  New  York. 


By  courtesy  of  the  American  Museum  of  Natural  History. 

DR.  JOHN  McLOUGHLIN,  Famous  Hudson's  Bay  Factor      -       246 
From  a  daguerreotype  made  in  1S56,  a  year  before  his  death.     By 
courtesy  of  the  Oregon  Historical  Society. 

GEN.  B.  L.  E.  BONNEVILLE  -  -  -  -       247 

From  a  photograph  made  in  1873,  five  years  before  his  death.     By 
courtesy   of   Mr.    Clarence   B.    Bagley. 

GEN.  ISAAC  INGALLS  STEVENS      -  -  -  -       258 

After  a  photograph  made  in  1861,  when  Gov.  Stevens  was  forty- 
three  years  old.     By  courtesy  of  Gen.  Hazard  Stevens. 

PETER    SKEEN    OGDEN  -  .  .  .  259 

By  courtesy  of  the  Oregon  Historical  Society. 

OLYMPIA  IN  THE  SIXTIES  -  -  -  -       262 

From  a  drawing  by  "Porte  Crayon,"    in   Harper's  Monthly  Maga- 
zine for   1873. 


Built  in  1855.     From  a  photograph  by  Eaton.     By  courtesy  of  the 
Oregon   Historical  Society. 

SEATTLE  IN  THE  EARLY  SEVENTIES     -  -  -       276 

From  Nordhoff's  "Northern   California,   Oregon,"   etc. 

SHE-CA-YAH:     a  Cayuse  Chief     -  -  -  -  292 

From  a  drawing  by  Gustave  Sohon.     By  courtesy  of  Gen.   Hazard 


HAL-HAL-TLOS-SOT;     THE  LAWYER;  head  Chief  of  the 

Nez  Perces  -  ...  -  -       294 

From  a  drawing  by  Gustave  Sohon.     By  courtesy  of  Gen.   Hazard 


By  courtesy  of  the  American  Museum   of  Natural    History. 

WINTHROP'S  GRAVE,  in  New  Haven  Cemetery  -  308 

Photograph  by  Leopold. 

ADMIRAL  PETER  RAINIER  -  -  -  -       312 

From  a  portrait  in  the  Rainier  Club,  Seattle;  photograph  by  Curtis 
&  Miller. 


GON, WITH  WINTHROP'S  ROUTE       -  -  -       229 




Sixty  years  ago  this  last  August,  an  incident  touched  with  the  color 
of  new  lands  and  new  eras  took  place  on  the  west  slope  of  the  Cascades. 
In  a  camp  of  red-shirted  frontiersmen,  two  young  men  lay  under  the 
same  blanket,  and  talked  half  the  night  away  in  the  enthusiasm  of 
youth  for  the  inspiring  things  planned  and  doing  in  the  new  Territory 
of  Washington.  The  little  community  on  Puget  Sound,  with  few 
resources  save  the  courage  of  inexperience,  had  undertaken  to  break 
the  barriers  which  barred  recruits  for  their  commonwealth  by  building 
a  highway  across  the  range  to  the  Columbia  River  Valley.  And  here  was 
the  little  band  of  intrepid  men  sent  out  to  achieve  this  incredible  feat. 

One  of  the  youths  bivouacking  under  the  stars,  although  only  twenty- 
two,  was  the  competent  engineer  and  chief  of  the  road-makers.  His 
guest  was  a  wayfarer,  unknown  but  not  unwelcome,  who  had  strayed 
into  their  camp  by  the  Greenwater  at  nightfall.  The  visitor  shared 
their  evening  meal,  joined  in  their  camp-fire  jollity,  and  divided  their 
leader's  bed  of  hemlock  boughs.  With  sunrise,  he  was  up  and  away, 
riding  fast  across  the  great  Naches  Pass  to  meet  soldier  friends  at  old 
Fort  Dalles  on  the  Columbia,  and  thence  to  hasten  eastward,  "over  the 
lonely  land,"  as  he  tells  us,  to  his  home  on  the  Atlantic.  They  parted 
fast  friends,  host  and  guest;  but  neither  knew  the  name  of  the  other.  No 
visiting  cards  circulated  in  the  forest  of  the  Greenwater.  "It  was  not 
etiquette  in  those  days  on  the  frontier,"  writes  the  now  venerable  road- 
builder,  "to  ask  a  name  when  not  voluntarily  given;"  and  he  did  not  learn 
the  identity  of  the  young  genius  he  had  entertained  unawares  until,  ten 
years  later,  he  saw  the  hospitable  Boston  tilicum  and  the  marvelous  snor- 
ing of  the  hooihut-builders  set  forth  on  the  flashing  pages  of  "The  Canoe 
and  the  Saddle." 

The  pleasant  story,  with  its  amusing  suggestion  of  frontier  custom, 
carries  us  back  to  the  last  stage  of  the  westward  march  of  our  nation. 
What  Winthrop  saw  here  in  1853,  and  interpreted,  was  the  opening 
scene  in  the  final  act  of  a  drama  in  which  his  own  forefathers  had  greatly 
played  their  parts  two  centuries  before.  The  English  colonists  annexed 
the  Atlantic  Coast  to  Britain  by  conquering  homes  for  themselves  in  the 
wilderness.     So   now  Americans  seized  the  Pacific  Northwest,  not  by 


armed  force,  or  purchase,  or  any  skill  of  statecraft,  but  by  the  hardi- 
hood of  the  often  despised   "settler." 

The  modern  study  of  history  is  mainly  an  examination  of  popular 
movements.  We  are  discovering  that  states  are  founded  less  by  profes- 
sional statesmanship  than  by  the  noiseless  impulses  of  the  masses. 
This  has  been  the  story  of  the  entire  American  advance  across  the  conti- 
nent. But  for  the  unnoticed  migration  of  the  Scotch-Irish  settlers  into 
Kentucky  and  Tennessee  before  and  during  the  Revolution,  Great 
Britain  would  probably  now  occupy  the  land  from  the  Ohio  to  the 
Pacific  and  from  the  Great  Lakes  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  There  would 
have  been  no  Louisiana  Purchase  by  President  Jefferson;  no  Mississippi 
Valley  states;  no  great  commonwealths  beyond  the  Rockies.  A  few 
thousand  humble  emigrants  changed  the  programme  of  nations. 

What  happened  in  the  East  was  repeated  here.  While  the  states- 
men at  Washington  slept,  and  Britain's  great  commercial  arm,  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company,  was  left  to  rule  the  Northwest,  Oregon  was 
won  for  the  United  States  by  the  dirt-tanned  pioneer  and  his  ox-team. 
Without  Oregon,  we  should  doubtless  have  no  Pacific  Coast  to-day. 
But  Oregon,  won,  made  California  inevitable.  And  now  the  Oregon- 
ians,  pushing  across  the  Columbia,  had  planted  the  seeds  of  a  new  state 
on  Puget  Sound.  The  Territory  of  Washington  had  just  been  created 
by  Congress.  Its  first  Governor,  brave  and  capable  Stevens,  was  com- 
ing across  the  plains  and  mountains,  surveying  the  route  of  a  northern 
transcontinental  railway.  It  was  a  time  of  great  dreams  and  equal 
deeds.  Let  us  not  mistake  the  pioneers  for  backwoodsmen.  In  the 
scattered  handful  inhabiting  the  new  Territory  were  men  strong  enough 
to  build  a  state,  and  fine  enough  to  stand  together  for  some  remark- 
able enterprises  in  public  service. 

One  such  expression  of  community  effort  was  this  road-building 
which  our  author  stumbled  upon  in  the  Cascades.  In  its  half-humor- 
ous but  wholly  sympathetic  way,  his  book  rightly  makes  much  of  it. 
The  "Citizens'  Road"  is  entitled  to  be  remembered  less  for  the  service 
it  actually  rendered  than  as  an  example  of  pluck  and  resourcefulness 
against  apparently  insuperable  difficulties.  When  the  delay  and  red 
tape  of  Captain  George  B.  McClellan  held  back  even  the  paltry  sum 
of  $20,000  which  Congress  had  voted  to  build  a  hundred  miles  of  moun- 
tain highway,  the  struggling  settlers  decided  with  amazing  nerve  to 
undertake  it  with  their  own  money  and  labor.  The  Boston  Hooihut 
is  an  epitome  of  the  history  of  the  West. 

This  West,  with  its  promise  of  great  forces  and  its  freedom  from 
threadbare  conventions,  made  a  powerful  appeal  to  the  young  seeker 
after  a  career.  "The  free  life  these  men  lead,"  he  says  of  his  friends  of 
the  Army,  "has  great  charms  for  me."    And  again:    "This  Oregon  is  a 


noble  country!    It  offers  a  grand  field  for  a  man  who  is  either  a  world 
in  himself,  or  can  have  his  own  world  about  him." 

Looking  back  sixty  years,  it  may  now  be  said  that  Winthrop  was 
probably  better  fitted  to  study  and  portray  the  West  than  any  other 
Eastern  man  who  attempted  to  describe  it.  He  came  prepared  to  under- 
stand and  value  it.  His  books  and  still  more  his  private  letters  and 
journals  show  him  wholly  free  from  that  tenderfoot  superiority  of  tone 


found  in  most  of  the  contemporary  writings  of  Eastern  men  who  visited 
the  frontier.  His  personal  charm,  even  more  than  the  letters  of  intro- 
duction which  he  brought,  made  him  welcome  among  the  leaders  in 
the  new  settlements.  The  few  still  living  who  knew  him  tell  of  his  mag- 
netism. They  recall  the  jovial  appreciation  with  which  he  met  alike 
the  hardships  and  the  inspiration  of  the  frontier. 

But  what  especially  fitted  Winthrop  to  depict  the  West  was  his 
profound  and  well-reasoned  Americanism.  In  an  age  when  section- 
alism was  fast  driving  toward  civil  war,  his  point  of  view  is  broadly 


national.  His  pride  in  his  country  as  a  whole  had  only  been  deepened 
by  education  and  foreign  travel.  He  had  come  home  from  Europe 
feeling  the  value  to  humanity  of  the  struggle  and  opportunities  pre- 
sented by  the  conquest  of  the  new  continent.  In  the  rough  battle 
with  the  forest,  in  the  stumpy  farms  on  the  little  clearings,  in  the  crude 
road  that  would  link  the  infant  settlements  with  the  outside  world, 
he  recognized  the  very  processes  that  had  laid  strong  the  foundations 
of  the  republic  to  which  later  he  so  gladly  gave  his  life.  Ungainly  as 
was  the  present,  this  descendant  of  the  great  governors  of  Massachusetts 
and  Connecticut  saw  in  it  the  promise  of  a  splendid  and  beneficent  future. 

"These  Oregon  people,"  he  says,  "carrying  to  a  new  and  grander 
New  England  of  the  West  a  fuller  growth  of  the  American  idea,  under 
whose  teaching  the  man  of  lowest  ambitions  must  still  have  some  lit- 
tle indestructible  respect  for  himself,  and  the  brute  of  most  tyranni- 
cal aspirations  some  little  respect  for  others;  carrying  there  a  religion 
two  centuries  farther  on  than  the  crude  and  cruel  Hebraism  of  the 
Puritans, —  with  such  material,  that  Western  society,  when  it  crys- 
tallizes, will  elaborate  new  systems  of  thought  and  life.  It  is  unphilo- 
sophical  to  suppose  that  a  strong  race,  developing  under  the  best, 
largest,  and  calmest  conditions  of  nature,  will  not  achieve  a  destiny." 

Most  of  our  writers  in  the  years  preceding  the  Civil  War  were 
either  occupied  with  sectional  discussions  and  local  traditions,  or  were 
looking  to  Europe  and  the  past  for  their  inspiration.  Hawthorne  knew 
no  America  save  that  of  New  England.  Emerson  sat  aloof  on  the 
heights  of  his  philosophy.  Longfellow's  lyre  was  tuned  to  the  key  of 
mediaeval  romance.  Whittier  was  absorbed  in  the  great  slavery  con- 
test. Lowell  was  winning  fame  with  his  political  ballads.  For  fiction, 
our  people  read  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  and  reprints  of  the  English 
novelists.  Our  literature  had  not  yet  discovered  the  West.  Winthrop's 
Western  books,  "The  Canoe  and  the  Saddle"  and  "John  Brent,"  minted 
new  ore. 

I  recall  a  meeting  with  George  William  Curtis  more  than  twenty 
years  ago,  memorable  to  me  because  the  talk  turned  to  Winthrop, 
who  had  been  one  of  my  boyhood  heroes,  and  I  was  delighted  to  hear 
about  him  from  one  who  had  known  him  so  well.  Some  chance 
remark  recalled  his  name,  and  Curtis's  face  lighted.  "Ah,  there  was 
a  man  we  could  ill  spare!"  he  cried.  "Winthrop's  death  was  as  great 
a  loss  to  American  literature  as  was  that  of  Keats  to  English  poetry. 
He  was  far  ahead  of  his  time  in  thinking  continentally.  Cut  off  before 
his  prime,  his  books,  brilliant  as  they  are,  are  the  books  of  a  young 
man.  But  he  had  vision  and  power,  and  had  he  lived  to  improve  his 
art,  I  have  always  believed  that  he  might  have  become  the  strongest, 
because  the  most  truly  American,  of  our  writers." 


Much  more  was  said  of  his  friend's  genial,  thoughtful  personality; 
of  his  brave  defiance  of  ill  health,  and  of  his  brilliant  talk  that  ranged 
from  philosophy  to  puns,  and  from  the  heated  politics  of  the  East  to 
stories  of  the  frontier.  But  I  shall  never  forget  the  feeling  with  which 
the  great  editor  told  of  Winthrop's  faith  in  his  country,  and  of  his  con- 
viction, when  the  war  clouds  broke  over  Sumter,  that  in  all  his  varied 
experiences  Life  had  been  fitting  him  for  some  part  in  building  the  free 
and  United  America  that  was  to  come. 

It  is  this  nationalism  that  gives  "The  Canoe  and  the  Saddle"  a 
place  quite  unique  among  our  books  of  humor  and  adventure.  As  a 
story  of  travel  among  the  mountains  and  forests,  it  was  the  first  of  a 
long  line  of  books  that  turned  the  eyes  of  the  country  westward  to  our 
great  scenery.  As  a  spirited  yet  truthful  contemporary  picture  of  the 
Indian  and  pioneer  epoch,  it  records  an  important  era  which  is  fast 
passing  into  history;  and  this  service  is  greatly  broadened  by  the  letters 
and  journals  now  added.  But  it  is  more  than  a  travel  book,  and  more 
than  an  historical  document.  It  is  both  a  picture  and  a  prophecy. 
Its  especial  value  for  its  own  day  and  ours  is  in  its  faith  in  the  democ- 
racy that  was  to  weld  all  the  sections  into  a  nation. 

Perhaps  his  finest  expression  of  that  faith  is  in  his  poem,  "The  East 
and  the  West,"  written  shortly  before  the  Civil  War,  first  published 
in  the  Atlantic  in  1863,  and  reprinted  in  the  fascinating  Memoir  by 
his  sister:* 

"We  of  the  East  spread   our  sails  to  the  sea, 
You  of  the  West  stride  over  the  land; 

Both   are   to   scatter   the   hopes   of   the   free 

As  the  sower  sheds  golden  grain  from  his  hand. 


"And    you,    through    dreary   and   thirsty   ways 
Where  rivers  are  sand,  and  winds  are  dust; 

Through   sultry   nights    and   feverish   days 

Move   westward   still,    as   the   sunsets   must; 

"Where  the  scorched  air  quivers  along  the  slopes. 
Where  the  slow-footed  cattle  lie  down  and  die, 

Where  horizons  draw  backward,  till  baffled  hopes 
Are  weary  of  measureless  waste  and  sky. 

"Yes!     Ours  to  battle  relentless  gales. 

And  yours  the  brave  and   patient  way; 

But  we  hold  the  storms  in  our  trusty  sails, 
And  for  you  the  life-giving  fountains  play. 

"There  are  stars  above  us,  and  stars  for  you. 
Rest  on  the  path  and  calm  on  the  main; 

♦  "The  Life  and  Poems  of  Theodore  Winthrop,  Edited  by  his  Sister" 
(Mrs.  Laura  Winthrop  Johnson),  New  York,  1884. 


Storms  are  but  zephyrs  when  hearts  are  true, 

We  are  no  weaklings,   quick  to   complain. 

"Man  is  nobler  than  men  have  been, 

Souls  are  vaster  than  souls  have  dreamed, 

There  are  broader  oceans  than  eyes  have  seen. 

Noons  more  glowing  than  yet  have  beamed." 

Winthrop's  visit  to  the  Northwest  gave  full  play  to  a  love  of  action 
that  was  fundamental  in  his  character.  This  trait  counterbalanced 
his  inherited  tendency  to  introspection,  perhaps  ine^^table  in  a  youth 
whose  veins  carried  the  blood  of  that  redoubtable  theologian  Jonathan 
Edwards,  as  well  as  of  the  D wights  and  Woolseys  of  Yale;  it  saved 
him,  no  doubt,  from  morbidness,  and  made  him  the  sane,  healthy- 
minded  young  American  that  he  was.  Like  many  another  serious 
and  precocious  lad  of  that  period,  he  had  kept  a  diary  during  his  col- 
lege career,  putting  into  it,  after  the  fashion  of  his  years,  much  religious 
self-analysis.  In  this  journal,  soon  after  his  graduation  from  Yale  in 
1848,  when  he  was  nineteen,  he  reproached  himself  for  a  "selfish  boy- 
hood" in  which  he  "did  little  but  read  novels,"  and  "had  doubts  about 
free  will!"  But  in  the  same  pages  we  see  the  other  side  of  his  character; 
"Labor!"  he  says,  "labor  is  the  great  thing.  I  have  learned  that  no 
effort  is  thrown  away."  And  now,  ten  years  later,  he  uTote  with  keen 
appraisal  of  values  about  the  West,  where  labor  was  indeed  "the  great 
thing,"  and  where  academic  speculation  had  as  yet  no  place. 

"It  is  a  stout  sensation,"  he  says,  putting  the  code  of  the  frontier 
into  words  that  show  his  sympathy,  "to  meet  masculine,  muscular 
men  at  the  brave  point  of  a  penetrating  Boston  hooihut, —  men  who 
are  mates, —  men  to  whom  technical  culture  means  naught, —  men  to 
whom  myself  am  naught,  unless  I  can  saddle,  lasso,  cook,  sing,  and 
chop;  unless  I  am  a  man  of  nerve  and  pluck,  and  a  brother  in  generos- 
ity and  heartiness.  It  is  restoration  to  play  at  cudgels  of  jocoseness 
with  a  circle  of  friendly  roughs,  not  one  of  whom  ever  heard  the  word 
bore, —  with  pioneers  who  must  think  and  act,  and  wrench  their  living 
from  the  closed  hand  of  Nature." 

This  visit  also  intensified  a  mental  bent  that  had  found  expression 
even  in  the  games  of  childhood,  when  he  and  his  brother  William,  both 
of  whom  were  later  to  respond  to  Lincoln's  first  call  for  troops,  used  to 
take  the  parts  of  soldiers.  Nothing  on  the  frontier  interested  him 
more  than  the  work  of  the  Army,  in  its  preservation  of  public  order 
and  its  dealings  with  the  Indians.  His  stay  here  brought  him  in  touch 
with  many  brilliant  young  officers  who  were  then  helping  to  lay  the  foun- 
dations of  new  states.  He  notes  the  opportunity  for  self-expression 
offered  by  the  Army  life;  he  accompanies  a  detachment  to  Fort  Dalles; 


he  regrets  that  he  cannot  join  the  McClellan  reconnaissance  of  the  Cas- 
cade passes,  and  help  find  a  practicable  route  for  the  much-wanted 
railway.  In  this  interest  we  may  see  the  hand  of  destiny  pointing 
him  forward  to  the  eager  sacrifice  of  Great  Bethel;  and  it  is  impossible 
not  to  feel  that,  had  he  lived  for  other  battles,  his  daring,  energy  and 
capacity  for  leadership  must  have  made  him  an  exceptionally  useful 
volunteer  officer. 

Winthrop  was  fortunate,  while  on  the  Coast,  to  know  the  fine  and 
able  men  whom  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  placed  in  charge  of  its 
"forts"  in  the  West.  Ogden,  Tolmie  and  Huggins  at  once  gave  him 
their  confidence  and  friendship;  and  through  their  eyes  he  was  enabled 
to  get  a  different  view-point  from  that  of  the  settler.  To  them  especi- 
ally he  was  indebted  for  much  information  about  the  Indians  and  their 
speech,  matters  to  which  he  gave  close  study,  and  which  fill  many  pages 
of  his  book  as  well  as  of  his  letters  and  diaries.  The  Indian  interested 
him,  not  as  a  subject  for  sentimentalism,  but  as  a  human  being,  primi- 
tive but  still  endowed  with  the  same  instincts  and  capacities  as  his 
white  brother,  and  sadly  subject  to  the  same  limitations. 

Our  author  risked  his  life  with  the  Red  Men,  and  probably  would 
have  lost  it  but  for  the  presence  of  McClellan  and  his  soldiers  in  the 
Cascades.  He  squared  the  account  by  making  his  native  guides  the 
subjects  of  character  studies  unexcelled  in  the  pages  of  American  humor. 
The  bibulous  Duke  of  York  and  Loolowcan  the  Frowzy,  as  figures 
in  his  siwash  Odyssey,  inspired  a  mock-heroic  style  that  is  both  original 
and  enjoyable.  I  have  yet  to  hear  of  a  reader  who  can  find  a  dull  page 
in  that  story  of  Indians  sophisticated  by  the  white  man's  blankets 
and  whiskey.  Even  the  Chinook  Jargon,  deadliest  of  stupidities,  yields 
its  amusement  for  this  jester,  to  whom  nothing  human  was  foreign. 

Winthrop's  life  has  been  well  told  by  his  sister,  in  the  Memoir  al- 
ready mentioned,  and  by  George  William  Curtis,  in  his  delightful  appre- 
ciation prefixed  to  Winthrop's  novel  of  New  York  life,  "Cecil  Dreame." 
It  is  the  story  of  an  impressionable  youth,  molded  by  the  influences 
of  an  admirable  home,  by  outdoor  life  and  study  of  nature,  and  by 
foreign  travel.  At  Yale  he  took  honors  in  languages,  history  and  phil- 
osophy; was  mediocre  in  mathematics,  but  distinguished  himself  even 
then  as  a  writer.  Graduation  was  followed  by  a  year  of  further  study, 
in  which  he  read  widely  and  well;  but  a  sickly  constitution  drove  him 
into  the  open,  and  he  went  abroad  for  two  years,  visiting  most  of  Europe, 
learning  its  languages  fluently,  studying  its  art,  and  gathering  in  Swit- 
zerland, Italy  and  Greece  that  appreciation  of  natural  beauty  that 
was  to  serve  him  so  well  in  his  pictures  of  our  western  mountains. 

On  his  return  to  America  in  1852,  he  entered  the  employ  of  the 
Pacific  Mail  Steamship  Company,  then  engaged  in  carrying  fortune- 


seekers  to  California  via  Panama,  and  we  soon  find  young  Winthrop 
at  the  Isthmus.  From  there  ill  health  drove  him  north,  and  after  a 
brief  stay  in  San  Francisco,  which  he  well  described  in  his  letters,  his 
wanderings  brought  him  to  the  Northwest.  Here  his  stay  on  the  Colum- 
bia was  prolonged  unexpectedly,  by  reason  of  illness,  and  to  this  acci- 
dent we  owe  the  visit  to  Puget  Sound  and  the  resulting  book. 

The  few  years  that  followed  were  of  little  note, —  the  years  of  a 
youth  trying  to  find  the  career  that  he  knows  to  be  his,  first  at  the  law 
and  then  at  literature.  Ill  health  still  hampered  him,  but  in  spite  of 
it,  he  wrote  much,  rewrote  most  of  it  with  care,  but  published  practic- 
ally nothing.  In  the  spring  of  1861,  his  famous  short  story,  "Love 
and  Skates,"  was  accepted  by  Lowell  for  the  Atlantic,  and  there  is  a 
rumor  that  "John  Brent"  was  accepted  by  one  publisher  on  condition 
that  Winthrop  omit  the  closing  incident,  since  it  would  offend  pro- 
slavery  readers.  This  he  refused  to  do,  preferring  to  abide  his  time. 
In  "John  Brent"  he  says  with  what  is  evidently  an  autobiographic 
significance:  "Observation  is  the  proper  business  of  a  man's  third 
decade;  the  less  a  spokesman  has  to  say  about  his  results  until  thirty, 
the  better,  unless  he  wants  to  eat  his  words,  or  to  sustain  outgrown 
formulas.  Brent  discovered  this,  and  went  about  the  world  still  point- 
less, purposeless,  minding  his  own  business,  getting  his  facts."  Even 
Curtis,  as  I  am  informed,  did  not  know  Winthrop  as  an  author  when 
he  wrote  his  exquisite  sketch  of  Winthrop  as  a  man  and  friend. 

Then  came  the  call  of  great  issues  for  which  he  had  been  waiting. 
At  the  first  opportunity  for  service  to  his  country,  he  left  the  widowed 
mother  and  his  sisters,  and  went  to  the  front  with  the  celebrated  Seventh 
Regiment  of  New  York.  When  that  regiment  returned  after  its  brief 
defense  of  the  capital,  he  remained  as  miUtary  secretary  to  General 
Benjamin  F.  Butler,  commanding  at  Fortress  Monroe.  The  rest  is 
soon  told;  how  in  his  eagerness  to  serve,  he  sought  to  rally  the  waver- 
ing lines  in  the  engagement  at  Great  Bethel,  on  June  10,  1861,  and 
fell  with  a  bullet  through  his  heart.  He  was  then  thirty-two  years 
old.  Only  two  years  before,  as  if  Death  had  already  marked  him, 
Winthrop  had  wTitten: 

"Let  me  not  waste  in  skirmishes  my  power, — 
In   petty  struggles, —  rather  in  the  hour 
Of  deadly  conflict  may  I   nobly  die! 
In  my  first  battle  perish  gloriously. 

"No  level  life  for  me,  no  soft  smooth  seas. 
No  tender  plaintive  notes  of  lulling  breeze; 
I  choose  the  night,  so  I  may  feel  the  gale, 
Even  though  it  wreck  me  on  my  foamy  trail." 



/U  ^^^iX^  ^^^     „i?^k^U^t    ^Z  Of^^-^^^^^C^    ^J^t^f'.^*^    ^^>^*C?<? 

^^ff-t^^a-.-yC.  /^^^r^^inr.g^  ^i^^-^j^^j^^SE^  ^^i>-^  .#^s>«^-^s«*^; 

^^^i^C^^^^  Y^A-^^rt^^  >^»sS^;j^<^  ^^^^/^'^^svC  ^^rx^^^i^le'^i^t^^ 

Page  36. 



A  wall  of  terrible  breakers  marks  the  mouth  of  the 
Columbia,  Achilles  of  rivers. 

Other  mighty  streams  may  swim  feebly  away  seaward, 
may  sink  into  foul  marshes,  may  trickle  through  the  ditches 
of  an  oozy  delta,  may  scatter  among  sand-bars  the  currents 
that  once  moved  majestic  and  united.  But  to  this  heroic 
flood  was  destined  a  short  life  and  a  glorious  one, —  a  life 
all  one  strong,  victorious  struggle,  from  the  mountains  to 
the  sea.  It  has  no  infancy, —  two  great  branches  collect 
its  waters  up  and  down  the  continent.  They  join,  and  the 
Columbia  is  born  to  full  manhood.  It  rushes  forward, 
jubilant,  through  its  magnificent  chasm,  and  leaps  to  its 
death  in  the  Pacific. 

Through  its  white  wall  of  breakers  Captain  Gray,  with 
his  bark,  the  Columbia,  first  steered  boldly  to  discover 
and  name  the  stream.  I  will  not  invite  my  reader  to  fol- 
low this  example,  an,d  buffet  in  the  wrecking  uproar  on  the 
bar.    The  Columbia,  rolling  seaward,  repels  us. 

Let  us  rather  coast  along  northward,  and  enter  the 
Northwest  by  the  Straits  of  Fuca,  upon  the  mighty  tides 


of  an  inland  sea.  We  will  profit  by  this  inward  eddy  of 
ocean  to  float  quietly  past  Vancouver  Island,  and  land  at 
Kahtai,  Port  Townsend,  the  opening  scene  of  my  narrative. 
The  adventures  chronicled  in  these  pages  happened 
some  years  ago,  but  the  story  of  a  civilized  man's  solitary 
onslaught  at  barbarism  cannot  lose  its  interest.  A  drama 
with  Indian  actors,  in  Indian  costume,  upon  an  Indian 
stage,  is  historical,  whether  it  happened  two  hundred  years 
since  in  the  northeast,  or  five  years  since  in  the  northwest 
corner  of  our  country. 




The  Duke  of  York  was  ducally  drunk.  His  brother, 
King  George,  was  drunk  —  royally.  Royalty  may  disdain 
public  opinion,  and  fall  as  low  as  it  pleases.  But  a  brother 
of  the  throne,  leader  of  the  opposition,  possible  Regent, 
possible  King,  must  retain  at  least  a  swaying  perpendicu- 
lar. King  George  had  kept  his  chair  of  state  until  an  angu- 
lar sitting  position  was  impossible;  then  he  had  subsided 
into  a  curvilinear  droop,  and  at  last  fairly  toppled  over, 
and  lay  in  his  lodge,  limp  and  stertorous. 

In  his  lodge  lay  Georgius  Rex,  in  flabby  insensibility. 
Dead  to  the  duties  of  sovereignty  was  the  King  of  the 
Klalams.*  Like  other  royal  Georges,  in  palaces  more  regal 
than  this  Port  Townsend  wigwam,  in  realms  more  civilized 
than  here,  where  the  great  tides  of  Puget  Sound  rise  and 
fall,  this  royal  George  had  sunk  in  absolute  wreck.  Kings 
are  but  men.  Several  kings  have  thought  themselves  the 
god  Bacchus.  George  of  the  Klalams  had  imbibed  this 
ambitious  error,  and  had  proved  himself  very  much  lower 
than  a  god,  much  lower  than  a  man,  lower  than  any  ple- 
beian Klalam  Indian, —  a  drunken  king. 

In  the  great  shed  of  slabs  that  served  them  for  palace 
sat  the  Queen, —  sat  the  Queens, —  mild-eyed,  melancholy, 
copper-colored  persons,  also,  sad  to  say,  not  sober.  Eti- 
quette demanded  inebriety.  The  stern  rules  of  royal  inde- 
corum must  be  obeyed.     The  Queen  Dowager  had  suc- 

*As  to  the  spelling  of  Indian  names,  see  Preface. 


cumbed  to  ceremony;  the  Queen  Consort  was  sinking;  every 
lesser  queen, —  the  favorites  for  sympathy,  the  neglected 
for  consolation, —  all  had  imitated  their  lord  and  master. 
Qourtiers  had  done  likewise.  Chamberlain  Gold  Stick, 
Black  Rod,  Garter  King  at  Arms,  a  dozen  high  functionaries, 
were  prostrate  by  the  side  of  prostrate  majesty.  Courtiers 
grovelled  with  their  sovereign.     Sardanapalus  never  pre- 

Mask  used  in  Tribal  Dances  and  Religious  Ceremonies.     From  near 
Bremerton,  Wash. 

sided,  until  he  could  preside  no  longer,  at  more  tumble- 
down orgies. 

King,  royal  household,  and  court,  all  were  powerless; 
and  I  was  a  suppliant  here,  on  the  waters  of  the  Pacific, 
for  means  of  commencing  my  homeward  journey  toward  the 
Atlantic.  I  needed  a  bark  from  that  fleet  by  which  King 
George  ruled  the  waves.  I  had  dallied  too  long  at  Vancouver 
Island,  under  the  hospitable  roof  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany, and  had  consumed  invaluable  hours  in  making  a  detour 
from  my  proper  course  to  inspect  the  house,  the  saw-mill,  the 
bluff,  and  the  beach,  called  Port  Townsend.    These  were  the 


last  days  of  August,  1853.  I  was  to  meet  my  overland  com- 
rades at  the  Dalles  of  the  Columbia  on  the  first  of  Septem- 
ber. Between  me  and  the  rendezvous  were  the  leagues  of 
Puget  Sound,  the  preparation  for  an  ultra-montane  trip,  the 
passes  of  the  Cascades,  and  all  the  dilatoriness  and  danger  of 
Indian  guidance.  Moments  now  were  worth  days  of  com- 
mon life. 

Therefore,  as  I  saw  those  winged  moments  flit  away 
unharnessed  to  my  chariot  of  departure,  I  became  wroth, 
and,  advancing  where  the  king  of  all  this  region  lay,  limp, 
stertorous,  and  futile,  I  kicked  him  liberally. 

Yes!     I  have  kicked  a  king! 

Proudly  I  claim  that  I  have  outdone  the  most  radical 
regicide.  I  have  offered  indignities  to  the  person  of  royalty 
with  a  moccasined  toe.  Would  that  that  toe  had  been 
robustly  booted!  In  his  Sans  Souci,  his  (Eil  de  Boeuf,  his 
Brighton  Pavilion,  I  kicked  so  much  of  a  first  gentleman  of 
his  realm  as  was  George  R.,  and  no  scalping-knife  leaped 
from  greasy  seal-skin  sheath  to  avenge  the  insult.  One 
bottle-holder  in  waiting,  upon  whose  head  I  had  casually 
trodden,  did  indeed  stagger  to  his  seat,  and  stammer  trucu- 
lently in  Chinook  jargon,  "Potlatch  lum! — Give  me  to 
drink,"  quoth  he,  and  incontinently  fell  prone  again,  a 
poor,  collapsed  bottle-holder. 

But  kicking  the  insensible  King  of  the  Klalams,  that 
dominant  nation  on  the  southern  shores  of  Puget  Sound, 
did  not  procure  me  one  of  his  canoes  and  a  crew  of  his 
braves  to  paddle  me  to  Nisqually,*  my  next  station,  for  a 
blanket  apiece  and  gratuities  of  sundries.  There  was  no 
help  to  be  had  from  that  smoky  barn  or  its  sorry  inmates, 
so  regally  nicknamed  by  British  voyagers.     I  left  them 

*Fort  Nisqually,  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company's  great  trading  post 
on  Puget  Sound,  near  the  mouth  of  the  Nisqually  River,  and  a  few 
miles  west  of  the  present  city  of  Tacoma,  played  a  noteworthy  part  in 
early  Northwestern  history.  It  was  founded  in  1833,  and  at  the  time  of 
Winthrop's  visit,  twenty  years  later,  did  a  large  business  with  the  Indiana 
both  west  and  east  of  the  Cascades,  as  well  as  with  the  white  settlements 


lying  upon  their  dirty  mats,  among  their  fishy  baskets, 
and  strode  away,  applying  the  salutary  toe  to  each 
dignitary  as  I  passed. 

Fortunately,  without  I  found  the  Duke  of  York,  only 
ducally  drunk.  A  duke's  share  of  the  potables  had  added 
some  degrees  to  the  arc  of  vibration  of  his  swagger,  but  had 
not  sent  it  beyond  equilibrium.  He  was  a  reversed  pendu- 
lum, somewhat  spasmodic  in  swmg,  and  not  constructed 
on  the  compensation  principle, —  when  one  muscle  relaxed, 
another  did  not  tighten.  However,  the  Duke  was  still 
sober  enough  to  have  speculation  in  his  eyes;  and  as  he  was 
Regent  now,  and  Lord  High  Admiral,  I  might  still,  by  his 
favor,  be  expedited. 

It  was  a  chance  festival  that  had  intoxicated  the  Kla- 
lams,  king  and  court.     There  had  been  a  fraternization,  a 

from  San  Francisco  to  Alaska.  The  buildings  were  roomy,  one-story 
houses  of  logs,  the  principal  ones  set  within  a  large  stockade,  which 
was  strengthened  for  defense  with  blockhouses,  well  stocked  with  fire- 
arms and  commanding  the  surrounding  plain.  The  United  States 
government,  in  1869,  paid  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  and  its  subsid- 
iary, the  Puget  Sound  Agricultural  Company,  $650,000  for  their  in- 
terests here,  thus  ending  the  story  of  Great  Britain's  attempt  to  hold 
the   Northwest   as   a   game   preserve. 

In  1853,  although  its  fur  trade  was  soon  to  be  cut  down  by  the  settle- 
ments, the  "Fort"  was  still  the  most  important  commercial  center  in 
the  new  Territory.  The  head  factor  was  Dr.  William  Fraser  Tolmie, 
and  his  assistant,  Edward  Huggins, —  both  men  of  sterling  character 
and  much  respected  by  the  American  settlers. 

"Nisqually,"  often  assumed  to  be  an  aboriginal  Indian  word,  is 
merely  an  Indian  adaptation  of  a  white  man's  phrase.  Like  many 
others  in  the  vocabulary  of  the  Northwest,  this  word  owes  its  origin  to 
the  French-Canadian  servants  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company.  Ob- 
serving the  flat  countenances  and  pug  noses  of  the  natives  on  the  upper 
Sound,  the  half-breed  voyageur  called  these  savages  ncz  carre.  The 
Indians,  probably  thinking  this  a  term  of  honor,  appropriated  it;  and 
being  unable,  like  the  Chinese,  to  pronounce  the  letter  r,  called  them- 
selves "nez  kaUi."  This  sounded  to  English  and  American  ears,  and 
soon  got  into  written  speech,  as  "Neskwalli"  (Gibbs)  or  "Nisqually." 
The  Nisqually  Indians  were  a  family  of  small  tribes  inhabiting  the  south 
and  east  shores  of  the  Sound.  The  Nisqually  River  gets  its  name 
from  them. 

"Siwash"  is  another  Indian  appropriation  of  a  name  given  in  con- 
tempt by  the  coureur  des  bois.  Little  did  the  Indian  suspect,  in  adopt- 
ing the  Canadian's  satwage,  that  he  was  dubbing  himself  a  "savage."  In 
due  time,  his  defective  pronunciation  of  the  word  got  current  as"Siwash." 


powwow,  a  wahwah,  a  peace  congress  with  some  neighbor- 
ing tribe, —  perhaps  the  Squaksnamish,  or  Squallyamish, 
or  Sinahomish,  or  some  other  of  the  Whulgeamish,  dwellers 
by  Whulge, —  the  waters  of  Puget  Sound.*  And  just  as  the 
festival  began,  there  had  come  to  Port  Townsend,  or  Kahtai, 
where  the  king  of  the  Klalams,  or  S'Klalams,  now  reigned, 


a  devil-send  of  a  lumber  brig,  with  Hquor  of  the  fieriest. 
Orgies  followed;  a  nation  was  prostrate. 

The  Duke  was  my  only  hope.    Yet  I  must  not  betray 

♦Winthrop's  Indian  names  illustrate  his  general  accuracy  and  pains- 
taking interest  in  the  Red  Man  and  his  language.  His  examples  here 
are  fair  specimens,  phonetically  rendered,  of  the  gutteral  clatter  of  si- 
wash  tribal  names.  There  was,  of  course,  no  written  Indian  language, 
and  each  student  of  the  dialects  had  to  guess  at  the  best  way  to  spell 
the  Indian  words.  "Squaksnamish,"  more  commonly  "Squaksamish," 
means  the  tribe  of  "Squak,"  which  appears  on  our  present-day  maps  as 
"Issaquah."  "Squallyamish"  was  the  current  name  for  the  tribe  of 
Nisqually,  also  shortened  by  the  Indians  into  "Squally,"  a  form  which 
Winthrop  frequently  uses.  "Sinahomish"  is  a  variant  for  the  more  com- 
mon name  of  the  important  tribe  of  "Snohomish."  Gibbs  {Pacific  Rail- 
way Report,  I.,  436)  uses  the  same  form.    "Whulgeamish"  is  not  found 


eagerness.  A  dignitary  among  Indians  does  not  like  to 
be  bored  with  energy.  If  I  were  too  ardent,  the  Duke 
would  grow  coy.  Prices  would  climb  to  the  unapproachable. 
Any  exhibition  of  impatience  would  cost  me  largess  of  beads, 
if  not  blankets,  beyond  the  tariff  for  my  canoe-hire.  A 
frugal  mind,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  a  bent  toward  irre- 
sponsible pleasure,  kept  the  Duke  palpably  wavering.  He 
would  joyfully  stay  and  complete  his  saturnalia,  and  yet 
the  bliss  of  more  chattels,  and  consequent  consideration, 
tempted  him.    Which  shall  it  be,  "lumoti"  or  "pesispy," — 

in  other  books,  and  may  have  been  coined  by  Winthrop  from  the  authen- 
tic word  "Whulge,"  in  the  fashion  of  other  tribal  names  which  he  heard 
in  current  use.  Deans  {American  Antiquarian,  VIII.,  41,  1886)  gives 
the  term  "WhuUemooch,"  meaning  "Dwellers  on  Puget  Sound,"  and 
says  that  this  is  "the  national  name  of  the  various  tribes  on  the  north- 
west coast  of  Washington. 

For  "Whulge,"  as  the  Indian  name  of  Puget  Sound,  Winthrop  also 
had  ample  authority.  The  form  he  uses  is  merely  a  somewhat  softened 
rendering  of  that  in  use  among  most  of  the  tribes  on  the  Sound.  Dr. 
Charles  M.  Buchanan,  the  scholarly  superintendent  of  the  Tulalip 
Indian  Agency,  reservations,  and  schools,  and  a  lifelong  student  of  the 
Indian  dialects  and  lore,  writes  me: 

"Your  informant,  Jerry  Meeker  (an  educated  Puyallup  Indian),  is 
correct,  both  as  to  his  information  and  his  pronunciation.  He  says 
'Whulch'  and  I  say  'Hwulch,'  the  only  difference  being  that  I  aspirate 
the  word  a  little  more  strongly  than  does  he.  I  prefer  this  to  'Whulge,' 
though  even  this  latter  is  only  slightly  removed  from  'Hwulch.'  Your 
informant,  Meeker,  is  correct  also  as  to  the  meaning  of  the  word,  i.  e., 
'salt  water,'  in  contradistinction  to  'k'oh'  or  'drinking  water,'  'fresh 
water.'  'Hwulch'  is  generally  used  in  this  vicinity  to  indicate  the  neigh- 
boring salt  water,  that  is,  Puget  Sound.    If  Mr. beHeves  the  word 

is  not  in  general  use,  he  is  much  mistaken.  The  Indians,  however, 
do  not  give  it  so  soft  or  gentle  a  pronunciation  as  'Whulge.'  They 
say  'Hwulch,'  as  if  to  rhyme  with  'gulch.' " 

Dr.  Buchanan  has  furnished  me  with  a  copy  of  the  treaty  made  by 
Governor  Stevens  on  January  22,  1855,  at  "Muckl'te  oh,  or  Point  El- 
liott," with  the  Indians  of  northwestern  Washington.  This  document 
mentions  the  following  tribes:  'Dwamish,  Suquamash,  Sk  tahl-mish,  Sam- 
ahmish,  Smalh  kahmish,  Skopeahmish,  St-kah-mish,  Snoqualmoo,  Skai- 
wha-mish,  N'Quentl-ma-mish,  Sk-tah-le-jum,  Stoluck-wha-mish,  Sno- 
ho-m'sh,  Skagit,  Kik-i-allus,  Swin  a  mish,  Squin  ah-mish,  Sah  ku  mehu, 
Noo-wha-ha,  Nook  wa-chah  mish,  Mee  see-qua-guilch,  Cho  bah-ah- 
bish,  and  other  allied  and  subordinate  tribes  and  bands." 

After  reading  this  list,  one  feels  that  Chas.  Nordhoff  hardly  exag- 
gerated the  matter  when,  on  visiting  the  territory  in  1873,  he  opined 
that  the  Northern  Pacific  Railway  had  selected  Tacoma  as  its  terminus 
because  it  was  "one  of  the  few  places  on  the  Sound  whose  name  did  not 
inspire  horror  and  disgust." 


bottle  or  blanket?  revel  and  rum,  or  toil  and  toilette? — the 
great  alternative  on  which  civilization  hinges,  as  well  among 
Klalams  as  elsewhere.  Sunbeams  are  so  warm,  and  basking 
such  dulcet,  do-nothing  bliss,  why  overheat  one's  self  now 
for  the  woollen  raiment  of  future  warmth?  Not  merely 
warmth,  but  wealth, —  wives,  chief  est  of  luxuries,  are 
bought  with  blankets;  with  them  canoes  are  bought,  and 
to  a  royal  highness  of  savages,  blankets  are  purple,  ermine, 
and  fine  linen. 

Calling  the  Duke's  attention  to  these  facts,  I  wooed 
him  cautiously,  as  craft  wooes  coyness;  I  assumed  a  lofty 
indifference  of  demeanor,  and  negotiated  with  him  from  a 
sham  vantage-ground  of  money-power,  knowing  what  trash 
my  purse  would  be,  if  he  refused  to  be  tempted.  A  gro- 
tesque jargon  called  Chinook  is  the  lingua-franca  of  the 
whites  and  Indians  of  the  Northwest.  Once  the  Chinooks 
were  the  most  numerous  tribe  along  the  Columbia,  and  the 
first,  from  their  position  at  its  mouth,  to  meet  and  talk  with 
strangers.  Now  it  is  all  over  with  them;  their  bones  are 
dust;  small-pox  and  spirits  have  eliminated  the  race.  But 
there  grew  up  between  them  and  ,the  traders  a  lingo,  an 
incoherent  coagulation  of  words, —  as  much  like  a  settled, 
logical  language  as  a  legion  of  centrifugal,  marauding  Bashi 
Bazouks,  every  man  a  Jack-of-all-trades,  a  beggar  and  black- 
guard, is  like  an  accurate,  unanimous,  disciplined  battalion. 
It  is  a  jargon  of  English,  French,  Spanish,  Chinook,  Kalla- 
pooya,  Haida,  and  other  tongues,  civilized  and  savage. 
It  is  an  attempt  on  a  small  scale  to  nullify  Babel  by  com- 
bining a  confusion  of  tongues  into  a  confounding  of  tongues, 
—  a  witches'  caldron  in  which  the  vocable  that  bobs  up 
may  be  some  old  familiar  Saxon  verb,  having  suffered 
Procrustean  docking  or  elongation,  and  now  doing  sub- 
stantive duty;  or  some  strange  monster,  evidently  nurtured 
within  the  range  of  tomahawks  and  calumets.  There  is 
some  danger  that  the  beauties  of  this  dialect  will  be  lost 
to  literature. 


"Carent  quia  vate  sacro." 

The  Chinook  jargon  still  expects  its  poet.  As  several  of 
my  characters  will  use  this  means  of  conveying  their  thoughts 
to  my  reader,  and  employ  me  only  as  an  interpreter,  I 
have  thought  it  well  to  aid  comprehension  by  this  little 
philological  preface. 

My  big  talk  with  the  Duke  of  York  went  on  in  such  a 
lingo,  somewhat  as  follows: — 

"Pottlelum  mitlite  King  Jawge;  Drunk  lieth  King 
George,"  said  I.  "Cultus  tyee  ocook;  a  beggarly  majesty 
that.  Hyas  tyee  mika;  a  mighty  prince  art  thou, —  pe  kum- 
tux  skookoom  mamook  esick;  and  knowest  how  robustly 
to  ply  paddle.  Nika  tikky  hyack  klatawah  copa  Squally, 
copa  canim;  I  would  with  speed  canoe  it  to  Squally.  Hui 
pesispy  nika  potlatch  pe  hui  ikta;  store  of  blankets  will  I 
give,  and  plenteous  sundries." 

"Nawitka  siks;  yea,  friend,"  responded  the  Duke,  grasp- 
ing my  hand,  after  two  drunken  clutches  at  empty  air. 
"Klosche  nika  tum  tum  copa  hyas  Baasten  tyee;*  tender 
is  my  heart  toward  thee,  0  great  Yankee  don.  Yaka  pot- 
tlelum  —  halo  nika  —  wake  cultus  mann  Dookeryawk;  he 
indeed  is  drunk  —  not  I  —  no  loafer-man,  the  Duke  of 
York.  Mitlite  canim;  got  canoe.  Pe  klosche  nika  tikky 
klatawah  copa  Squally;  and  heartily  do  I  wish  to  go  to 

Had  the  Duke  wavered  still,  and  been  apathetic  to 
temptation  of  blankets,  and  sympathetic  toward  the  joys 
of  continued  saturnalia,  a  new  influence  now  brought  to 
bear  would  have  steadied  him.  One  of  his  Duchesses, 
only  duchessly  intoxicated,  came  forth  from  the  ducal  lodge, 
and  urged  him  to  effort. 

"Go,   by   all   means,   with   the   distinguished  stranger, 

*The  first  American  vessels  to  visit  the  north  coast  were  commonly 
from  Boston.  Hence  the  Chinook  jargon  designated  all  Americans 
as  "Boston  men."  Similarly,  the  coming  of  Vancouver  and  other  Eng- 
lish navigators  during  the  reign  of  George  III.  gave  the  jargon  the 
phrase  "King  George  men"  for  all  Britishers. 


my  love,"  said  she,  in  Chinook,  "and  I  will  be  the  solace 
of  thy  voyage.  Perchance,  also,  a  string  of  beads  and  a 
pocket-mirror  shall  be  my  meed  from  the  Boston  chief, 
a  very  generous  man,  I  am  sure."  Then  she  smiled  enticingly, 
her  flat-faced  grace;  and  introduced  herself  as  Jenny  Lind, 
or,  as  she  called  it,  "Chin  Lin."  Indianesque,  not  fully 
Indian,  was  her  countenance.  There  was  a  trace  of  tin 
in  her  copper  color,  possibly  a  dash  of  Caucasian  blood  in 
her  veins.  Brazenness  of  hue  was  the  result  of  this  union, 
and  a  very  pretty  color  it  is  with  eloquent  blushes  mantling 
through  it,  as  they  do  mantle  in  Indian  cheeks.  Her  fore- 
head was  slightly  and  coquettishly  flattened  by  art,  as  a 
woman's  should  be  by  nature,  unless  nature  destines  her 
for  missions  foreign  to  feminineness,  and  means  that  she  shall 
be  an  intellectual  roundhead,  and  shall  sternly  keep  a 
graceless  school,  to  irritate  youthful  cherubim  into  original 
sinners.  Indian  maids  are  pretty;  Indian  dames  are  hags. 
Only  high  civilization  keeps  its  women  beautiful  to  the  last. 
Indian  belles  have  some  delights  of  toilette  worthy  of  con- 
sideration by  their  blonde  sisterhood.  0  mistaken  harridans 
of  Christendom,  so  bountifully  painted  and  powdered,  did 
ye  but  know  how  much  better  than  your  diffusiveness  of 
daub  is  the  concentrated  brilliance  of  vermilion  stripes 
parting  at  the  nose-bridge  and  streaming  athwart  the  cheeks! 
Knew  ye  but  this,  at  once  ye  would  reform  from  your 
undeluding  shams,  and  recover  the  forgotten  charms  of 
acknowledged  pinxit. 

At  last,  persuaded  by  his  own  desires  and  the  solicitations 
of  his  fair  Duchess,  the  Duke  determined  to  transport  me. 
He  pointed  to  a  grand  canoe  on  the  beach, —  that  should 
be  our  Bucentaur,  and  now  he  must  don  robes  of  ceremony 
for  the  voyage.  For,  indeed,  both  ducal  personages  were 
in  deshabille.  A  dirty  shirt,  blue  and  short,  was  the 
Duke's  chief  habiliment;  hers,  a  shirt  longer,  but  no  cleaner. 

Within  his  palace-curtains  now  disappeared  the  second 
grandee  of  the  Klalams,  to  bedeck  himself.     Presently  I 


lifted  the  hanging  mat  that  served  for  door  to  his  shed  of 
slabs,  and  followed  him.  His  family  and  suite  were  but  crapu- 
lous after  their  less  than  royal  potations.  He  despatched 
two  sleepy  braves  to  make  ready  the  canoe,  and  find  paddles. 

"Where  is  my  cleanest  shirt.  Chin  Lin?"  he  asked. 

"Nika  macook  lum;  I  buy  grog  with  um,"  replied  the 

"Cultus  mamook;  a  dastardly  act,"  growled  the  Duke, 
"and  I  will  thwack  thee  for't." 

Jenny  Lind  sank  meekly  upon  the  mud-floor,  and  wept, 
while  the  Duke  smote  her  with  palm,  fist,  and  staff. 

"Kopet!  hold!"  cried  I,  rushing  forward.  "Thy  beauteous 
spouse  has  bought  the  nectar  for  thy  proper  jollity.  Even 
were  she  selfish,  it  is  uncivilized  to  smite  the  fair.  Among 
the  Bostons,  when  women  wrong  us,  we  give  pity  or  con- 
tempt, but  not  the  strappado."  Harangues  to  Indians 
are  traditionally  in  such  lofty  style. 

The  Duke  suffered  himself  to  be  appeased,  and  proceeded 
to  dress  without  the  missing  article.  He  donned  a  faded 
black  frock-coat,  evidently  a  misfit  for  its  first  owner  in 
civilization,  and  transmitted  down  a  line  of  deformed 
wearers  to  fall  amorphous  on  the  shoulders  of  him  of  York. 
For  coronet  he  produced  no  gorgeous  combination  of  velvet, 
strawberry-leaves,  and  pearls;  but  a  hat  or  tile,  also  of  civil- 
ization, wrinkled  with  years  and  battered  by  world-wander- 
ing, crowned  him  frowzily.  Black  dress  pantaloons  of 
brassy  sheen,  much  crinkled  at  the  bottom,  where  they  fell 
over  moccasins  with  a  faded  scarlet  instep-piece,  completed 
his  costume.  A  very  shabby  old-clo'  Duke.  A  virulent 
radical  would  have  enjoyed  him  heartily,  as  an  emblem 
of  decay  in  the  bloated  aristocracy  of  this  region.  Red 
paint  daubed  over  his  clumsy  nose,  and  about  the  flats 
surrounding  his  little,  disloyal,  dusky  eyes,  kept  alive  the 
traditional  Indian  in  his  appearance.  Otherwise  he  might 
have  been  taken  for  a  decayed  priest  turned  bar-tender,  or 
a  colporteur  of  tracts  on  spiritualism,  or  an  ex-constable 


pettifogger  in  a  police  court.  Commerce,  alas!  had  come 
to  the  waters  of  Whulge,  stolen  away  his  Indian  simplicity, 
and  made  him  a  caricature,  dress,  name,  and  nature.  A 
primitive  Klalam,  clad  in  skins  and  undevoured  by  the 
flames  of  fire-water,  he  would  have  done  well  enough  as  a 
type  of  fish-fed  barbarism.  Civilization  came,  with  step- 
mother kindness,  baptized  him  with  rum,  clothed  him  in 
discarded  slops,  and  dubbed  him  Duke  of  York.  Hapless 
scarecrow,  disreputable  dignitary,  no  dukeling  of  thine 
shall  ever  become  the  Louis  Philippe  of  Klalam  revolutions. 
Boston  men  are  coming  in  their  big  canoes  over  sea.  Pikes* 
have  shaken  off  the  fever  and  ague  on  the  banks  of  the 
muddy  Missouri,  and  are  striding  beyond  the  Rockies. 
Nasal  twangs  from  the  east  and  west  soon  will  sound 
thy  trump  of  doom.  Squatters  will  sit  upon  thy  dukedom, 
and  make  it  their  throne. 

Tides  in  Whulge,  which  the  uneducated  maps  call 
Puget  Sound,  rush  with  impetus,  rising  and  falling  eighteen 

*The  word  "Pikes"  was  long  current  in  the  West  for  the  rougher 
element  among  the  frontiersmen.  Nordhoflf  found  it  still  in  common 
use  in  the  early  seventies.  It  has  now  become  obsolete,  except  as  a  sur- 
vival among  the  remaining  pioneers.  The  fact  that  many  disorderly 
characters  came  from  the  several  Pike  Counties  in  the  Mississippi 
Valley  States  must  bear  the  blame  for  this  undiscriminating  use  of  the 
county  name  as  a  description  of  the  big-talking,  tobacco-spitting,  and 
semi-lawless  variety  of  bipeds,  not  unknown  to  other  counties  than  Pike. 

"America  is  manufacturing  several  new  types  of  men.  The  Pike 
is  one  of  the  newest.  He  is  a  bastard  pioneer.  With  one  hand  he 
clutches  the  pioneer  vices;  with  the  other  he  beckons  forward  the  vices 
of  civilization.  It  is  hard  to  understand  how  a  man  can  have  so  little 
virtue  in  so  long  a  body,  unless  the  shakes  are  foes  to  virtue  in  the 
soul,  as  they  are  to  beauty  in  the  face. 

"He  is  a  terrible  shock,  this  unlucky  Pike,  to  the  hope  that  the 
new  race  on  the  new  continent  is  to  be  a  handsome  race.  I  lose  that 
faith,  which  the  people  about  me  now  have  nourished,  when  I  recall 
the  Pike.  He  is  hung  together,  not  put  together.  He  inserts  his  lank 
fathom  of  a  man  into  a  suit  of  molasses-colored  homespun.  Frowzy 
and  husky  is  the  hair  Nature  crowns  him  with;  frowzy  and  stubby  the 
beard.  He  shambles  in  his  walk.  He  drawls  in  his  talk.  He  drinks 
whiskey  by  the  tank.  His  oaths  are  to  his  words  as  Falstaff's  sack  to 
his  bread.  I  have  seen  Maltese  beggars,  Arab  camel-drivers,  Domini- 
can friars,  New  York  Aldermen,  Digger  Indians;  the  foulest,  frowziest 
creatures  I  have  ever  seen  are  thorough-bred  Pikes." — Winthrop:  John 


or  twenty  feet.  The  tide  was  rippling  winningly  up  to  the 
stranded  canoes.  Our  treaty  was  made;  our  costume  was 
complete;  we  prepared  to  embark.  But  lo!  a  check!  In 
malignant  sulks,  King  George  came  forth  from  his  mal- 
perfumed  lodge  of  red-smeared  slabs.  "Veto,"  said  he. 
"Dog  am  I,  and  this  is  my  manger.  Every  canoe  of  the 
fleet  is  mine,  and  from  this  beach  not  one  shall  stir  this  day 
of  festival!" 

Whereupon,  after  a  wrangle,  short  and  sharp,  with  the 
Duke,  in  which  the  King  whipped  out  a  knife,  and  brandished 
it  with  drunken  vibrations  in  my  face,  he  staggered  back, 
and  again  lay  in  his  lodge.  Had  he  felt  my  kick,  or  was 
this  merely  an  impulse  of  discontented  ire? 

How  now?  Could  we  not  dethrone  the  sovereign,  and 
confiscate  his  property?  There  are  precedents  for  such  a 
course.  But  savage  life  is  full  of  chances.  As  I  was  urging 
the  soberish  Duke  to  revolutionary  acts,  or  at  least  to  a 
forced  levy  from  the  royal  navy,  a  justifiable  piracy,  two 
canoes  appeared  rounding  the  point. 

"  'Come  unto  these  yellow  sands,'  ye  brass-colored 
braves,"  we  cried.  They  were  coming,  each  crew  roving 
anywhither,  and  soon,  by  the  Duke's  agency,  I  struck  a 
bargain  for  the  leaky  better  of  the  two  vessels. 

No  clipper  that  ever  creaked  from  status  quo  in  Webb's 
shipyard,  and  rumbled  heavily  along  the  ways,  and  rushed 
as  if  to  drown  itself  in  its  new  element,  and  then  went 
cleaving  across  the  East  River,  staggering  under  the  intoxi- 
cating influence  of  a  champagne-bottle  with  a  blue  ribbon 
round  its  neck,  cracked  on  the  rudder-post  by  a  blushing 
priestess, —  no  such  grand  result  of  modem  skill  ever  sur- 
passed in  mere  model  the  canoe  I  had  just  chartered  for 
my  voyage  to  Squally.  Here  was  the  type  of  speed  and 
grace  to  which  the  most  untrammelled  civilization  has 
reverted,  after  cycles  of  junk,  galleon,  and  galliot  building, 
—  cycles  of  lubberly  development,  but  full  of  instruction 
as  to  what  can  be  done  with  the  best  type  when  it  is  reasoned 



out  or  rediscovered.  My  vessel  was  a  black  dug-out  with 
a  red  gunwale.  Forty  feet  of  pine-tree  had  been  burnt 
and  whittled  into  a  sharp,  buoyant  canoe.  Sundry  cross- 
pieces  strengthened  it,  and  might  be  used  as  seats  or  backs. 
A  row  of  small  shells  inserted  in  the  red-smeared  gunwale 
served  as  talismans  against  Bugaboo.  Its  master  was  a 
withered  ancient;  its  mistress  a  haggish  crone.  These  two 
were  of  unsavory  and  fishy  odor.  Three  young  men,  also 
of  unsavory  and  fishy  odor,  completed  the  crew.  Salmon 
mainly  had  been  the  lifelong  diet  of  all,  and  they  were 
oozier  with  its  juices  than  I  could  wish  of  people  I  must 
touch  and  smell  for  a  voyage  of  two  days. 

In  the  bargain  for  canoe  and  crew,  the  Duke  constituted 
himself  my  courier.  I  became  his  prey.  The  rule  of  tea- 
making,  where  British  ideas  prevail,  is  a  rough  generaliza- 
tion, a  spoonful  for  the  pot  and  one  for  each  bibber.  The 
tariff  of  canoe-hire  onWhulge  is  equally  simple, —  a  blanket 
for  the  boat  and  one  for  each  paddler.  The  Duke  carefully 
included  himself  and  Jenny  Lind  among  the  paddling 
recipients  of  blankets.  I  ventured  to  express  the  view  that 
both  he  and  his  Duchess  would  be  unwashed  supernumer- 
aries. At  this  he  was  indignant.  He  felt  himself  necessary 
as  impresario  of  the  expedition. 

"Wake  closche  ocook  olyman  siwash;  no  good  that  old- 
man  savage,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  skipper.  "Yaka 
pottlelum,  conoway  pottlelum;  he  drunk,  all  drunk.  Wake 
kumtux  Squally;  no  understand  Squally.  Hyas  tyee  Dooker- 
yawk,  wake  pottlelum, —  kumtux  skookoom  mamook  esick, 
pe  tikky  hyack  klatawah  copa  Squally;  mighty  chief  the 
Duke  of  York,  not  drunk,  understand  to  ply  paddle  mightily, 
and  want  to  go  fast  to  Squally." 

"Very  well,"  said  I,  "I  throw  myself  into  your  hands. 
My  crew,  then,  numbers  six,  the  three  fishy  youths,  Oly- 
man siwash,  Jenny  Lind,  and  yourself.  As  to  Olyman's 
fishy  squaw,  she  must  be  temporarily  divorced,  and  go  ashore; 
dead  weight  will  impede  our  voyage." 



"Nawitka,"  responded  the  Klalam,  "cultus  ocook  oly- 
man  cloocheman;  no  use  that  oldman  woman."  So  she  went 
ashore,  bow-legged,  monotonous,  and  a  fatalist,  like  all 
old  squaws. 

"And  now,"  continued  the  Duke,  drawing  sundry  greasy 
documents  from  the  pocket  of  that  shapeless  draggle-tail 

QUEEN  VICTORIA:  One  of  the  Wives  of  the  "Duke  of  York." 

coat   of  his,  "mika  tikky  nanitch   nika  teapot;  wilt  thou 
inspect  my  certificates?" 

I  took  the  foul  papers  without  a  shudder, —  have  we  not 
all  been  educated  out  of  squeamishness  by  handling  the 
dollar-bills  of  civilization?  There  was  nothing  ambiguous 
in  the  wording  of  these  "teapots."  It  chanced  sometimes, 
in  days  of  chivalry,  that  spies  bore  missions  with  clauses 
sinister  to  themselves,  as  this:  "The  bearer  is  a  losel  vile, — 
have  you  never  a  hangman  and  an  oak  for  him?"  The 
Duke's  testimonials  were  of  similar  import.     They  were 


signed  by  Yankee  skippers,  by  British  naval  officers,  by 
casual  travellers, —  all  unanimous  in  opprobrium.  He  was 
called  a  drunken  rascal,  a  shameless  liar,  a  thief;  called  each 
of  these  in  various  idioms,  with  plentiful  epithets  thrown 
in,  according  to  the  power  of  imagery  possessed  by  the 
author.  Such  certificates  he  presented  gi-avely,  and  with 
tranquil  pride.  He  deemed  himself  indorsed  by  civilization, 
not  branded.  Men  do  not  always  comprehend  the  world's 
cynical  praise.  It  seemed  also  that  his  Grace  had  once 
voyaged  to  San  Francisco  in  what  he  called  a  "skookoom 
canim  copa  moxt  stick;  a  colossal  canoe  with  two  masts." 
He  did  not  state  what  part  he  played  on  board,  whether 
cook,  captain,  stowaway,  or  Klalam  plenipo  to  those  within 
the  Golden  Gate.  His  photograph  had  been  taken  at 
San  Francisco.  This  he  also  exhibited  in  a  grandiose  man- 
ner, the  Duchess,  Olyman  siwash,  and  the  three  fishy 
siwashes  examining  it  with  wonder  and  grunts  of  delight. 
Now  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  Duke  was  not 
still  ducally  drunk,  or  that  it  was  easy  to  keep  him  steady 
in  position  or  intention.  Olyman  siwash,  also,  though  not 
patently  intoxicated,  wished  to  be, —  so  did  the  three  un- 
savory, hickory-shirted,  mat-haired,  truculent  siwashes. 
Olyman  would  frequently  ask  me,  aside,  in  the  strange, 
unimpassioned,  expressionless  undertone  of  an  Indian,  for 
a  "lumoti,"  Chinook  jargon  for  la  houteille,  meaning  no 
empty  bottle,  but  a  full.  Never  a  lumoti  of  delay  and  danger 
got  Olyman  from  me.  Our  preparations  went  heavily 
enough.  Sometimes  the  whole  party  would  squat  on  the 
beach,  and  jabber  for  ten  minutes,  ending  always  by  de- 
manding of  me  liquor  or  higher  wages.  But  patience  and 
purpose  always  prevail.  At  last,  by  cool  urgency,  I  got  them 
all  on  board  and  away.  Adieu  Port  Townsend,  town  of 
one  house  on  a  grand  bluff,  and  one  saw-mill  in  a  black 
ravine.  Adieu  intoxicated  lodges  of  Georgius  Rex  Kla- 
lamorum!  Adieu  Royalty!  Remember  my  kick,  and  con- 
tinue to  be  h'happy  as  you  may. 



According  to  the  cosmical  law  that  regulates  the  west 
ends  of  the  world,  Whulge  is  more  interesting  than  any  of 
the  eastern  waters  of  our  country.  Tame  Albemarle  and 
Pamlico,  Chesapeake  and  Delaware,  Long  Island  Sound, 
and  even  the  Maine  Archipelago  and  Frenchman's  Bay, 
cannot  compare  with  it.  Whulge  is  worthy  of  the  Scandi- 
navian savor  of  its  name.  Its  cockney  misnomer  should 
be  dropped.  Already  the  critical  world  demands  who  was 
"Puget,"  and  why  should  the  title  be  saved  from  Lethe  and 
given  to  a  sound.  Whulge  is  a  vast  fiord,  parting  rocks 
and  forests  primeval  with  a  mighty  tide.  Chesapeakes 
and  the  like  do  very  well  for  oyster  "fundums"  and  shad- 
fisheries,  but  WTiulge  has  a  picturesque  significance  as 
much  greater  as  its  salmon  are  superior  to  the  osseous 
shad  of  the  east.  Some  of  its  beauties  will  appear  in  this 
my  voyage. 

I  sat  comfortably  amidships  in  my  stately  but  leaky 
galley,  Bucentaur  hight  for  the  nonce.  Olyman  si  wash 
steered.  The  Duke  and  Duchess,  armed  with  idle  paddles, 
were  between  him  and  me.  The  fishy  trio  were  arranged 
forward,  paddling  to  starboard  and  port.  It  was  past 
noon  of  an  August  day,  sultry,  but  not  blasting,  as  are  the 
summer  days  of  that  far  Northwest.  We  sped  on  gallantly, 
paddling  and  spreading  a  blanket  to  the  breeze. 

The  Duke,  however,  sogered  bravely,  and  presently 
called  a  halt.  Then,  to  my  consternation,  he  produced  a 
"lumoti"   and  passed   it.     Potations  pottle-deep  ensued. 

hai/onaaiol  al  baslal 

oi  iriJiow  ,>lE9q  haqijrfg-bxiuom  ,9via8/)n-:  .lelxiggni  nt: 
2i(  n99W}9<.I  9DB9q  L'uJdqiaq  lo  mofdmt*  eJiriw  s  biisJe 
Jo§  I  exnea  eJl  ♦  »  *  .anoJha  lariroid  lyo  bns 
ai  boqqib  bsd  I  le^'ts  .saed  8Ji  i&  ^dhi  imrntrj  9di  moil 
tacli  .isAbQ  oj  eA  .:r8£9l  nornlae-baliod  i;  jxj  joq  tisdj 
tjd  Jon  bluorfg  anuiJ^inoM  rj'>Jio;_  :.i:  ■  '  'jfi'nrf  •:>njj;r 
".ebaqid  b^dBiugnr 

Admiralty  Inlet  and  Whidbey  Island  in  foreground. 

"Kulshan,  misnamed  Mount  Baker  by  the  vulgar,  is 
an  irregular,  massive,  mound-shaped  peak,  worthy  to 
stand  a  white  emblem  of  perpetual  peace  between  us 
and  our  brother  Britons.  *  *  *  Its  name  I  got 
from  the  Lummi  tribe  at  its  base,  after  I  had  dipped  in 
their  pot  at  a  boiled-salmon  feast.  As  to  Baker,  that 
name  should  be  forgotten.  Mountains  should  not  be 
insulted  by  being  named  after  undistinguished  bipeds." 

—Chapter  III. 

WHULGE.  21 

Each  reveller  took  one  sixth  of  the  liquor,  and,  after  the 
Duke's  exhaustive  draught,  an  empty  bottle  floated  astern. 
A  general  stagger  began  to  be  perceptible  among  the  sitters. 
Their  paddling  grew  spasmodic. 

After  an  interval  I  heard  again  a  popping  sound,  not 
unknown  to  me.  A  gurgle  followed.  I  turned.  The  Duke 
was  pouring  out  a  cupful  from  his  second  bottle.  He  handed 
me  the  cup  and  lumoti  for  transmission  to  the  fishy,  for- 
ward. This  must  stop.  I  deposited  the  bottle  by  my  side 
and  emptied  the  cup  into  Whulge.  Into  an  arm  of  the 
Pacific  in  the  far  Northwest  I  poured  that  gill  of  fire-water. 
Answer  me  from  the  northeast  corner,  0  Neal  Dow,  was 
it  well  done? 

Then  raged  the  siwashes  all,  from  Olyman  perched  on 
high  and  wielding  a  helmsman  paddle  aft,  to  a  special 
blackguard  in  the  bow  with  villain  eyes  no  bigger  than  a 
flattened  pea,  and  a  jungle  of  coarse  black  hair,  thick  as 
the  mane  of  a  buffalo  bull.  All  stowed  their  paddles  and 
talked  violently  in  their  own  tongue.  It  was  a  guttural, 
sputtering  language  in  its  calmest  articulation,  and  now 
every  word  burst  forth  like  the  death-rattle  of  a  garroted 

Finally,  in  Chinook,  "Kopet;  be  still,"  said  the  Duke. 
"Keelapi;  turn  about,"  said  he. 

They  brandished  paddles,  and,  whirling  the  canoe  around, 
tore  up  the  water  violently  for  a  few  strokes.  I  said  nothing. 
Presently  they  paused,  and  talked  more  frantically  than 
before.    Something  was  about  to  happen. 

Aha!  What  is  that,  0  Duke?  A  knife!  What  are  these, 
0  dirty  siwashes?  Guns  are  these,  flint-locks  of  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  pattern.  "Guns  for  thee,  0  spiteful  spiller  of 
enlivening  beverage,  and  capturer  of  a  lumoti.  Butchery 
is  the  order  of  the  day!" 

"Look  you,  then,  aborigines  all.  I  carry  six  siwash  lives 
at  my  girdle.  This  machine  —  mark  it  well!  —  is  called 
a  six-shooter,   an  eight-inch  navy  revolver,  invented  by 


Col.  Sam  Colt,  of  Hartford,  Conn.  God  bless  him!  We 
are  seven,  and  I  should  regret  sending  you  six  others  to  the 
Unhappy  Hunting-Grounds  of  the  Kicuali  Tyee,  Anglice 
Devil,  the  lowermost  chieftain.  Look  down  this  muzzle 
as  I  whisk  it  about  and  bring  it  to  bear  on  each  of  you  in 
turn.  Rifled  you  observe.  Pleasant,  well-oiled  click  that 
cylinder  has.  Behold,  also,  this  other  double-ban^elled 
piece  of  artillery,  loaded,  as  you  saw  but  now,  with  polecat- 
shot,  in  case  we  should  see  one  of  these  black  and  white 
objects  skulking  along  shore.  Unsavory  though  ye  be,  my 
Klalams,  I  should  not  wish  to  identify  you  in  your  deaths 
with  that  animal." 

Saying  this,  with  an  air  of  indifference,  but  in  expressive 
pantomime,  I  could  not  fail  to  perceive  that  the  situation 
was  critical.  Three  drunken  Indians  on  this  side,  and  two 
and  a  woman  on  that,  and  I  playing  bottle-holder  in  the 
midst, —  what  would  follow?  Their  wild  talk  and  threaten- 
ing gestures  continued.  I  kept  my  pistol  and  one  eye  cocked 
at  him  of  the  old  clo',  the  teapots,  and  the  daguerreotype; 
my  other  eye  and  the  double-barrel  covered  the  trio  in  the 
bow.  This  deadlock  lasted  several  minutes.  Meantime 
the  canoe  had  yielded  to  the  tide,  and  was  now  sweeping 
on  in  a  favorable  course. 

At  last  the  Duke  laid  down  his  knife,  Olyman  si  wash 
his  gun,  the  three  fishy  ones  theirs,  and  his  Grace,  stretching 
forth  an  eloquent  arm,  made  a  neat  speech.  Fluency  is 
impossible  in  few-worded  Chinook  jargon,  but  brevity  is 
more  potent. 

"Hyas  silex  nika;  in  wrathful  sulks  am  I.  Masatche  nika 
tum  tum  copa  mika;  bitter  is  my  heart  toward  thee.  Wake 
cultus  tyee  Dookeryawk;  no  paltry  sachem,  the  Duke  of 
York.  Wake  kamooks,  halo  pottlelum;  no  dog,  by  no 
means  a  soaker.  Ancoti  conoway  tikky  mamook  iscum 
mika  copa  Squally, —  alta  halo;  but  now,  all  wished  to  con- 
duct thee  to  Squally;  now,  not  so.  Alta  nesika  wake  tikky 
pesispy,  pe  shirt,  pe  polealely,  pe  kaliaton,  pe  hiu  ikta, — 



tikky  keelapi;  now  we  no  want  blankets  and  shirts  and 
powder  and  shot  and  many  traps, —  want  to  return.  Cono- 
way  silex, —  tikky  moosum;  all  in  the  sulks, —  want  to 

Whereupon,  as  if  at  a  signal,  all  six  dived  deep  into 
slumber, —  slumber  at  first  pretended,  perhaps  to  throw  me 
off  my  guard,  perhaps  a  crafty  method  of  evading  the  diffi- 

culty of  a  reconciliation,  and  the  shame  of  yielding.  So 
deep  did  they  plunge  into  sham  sleep,  that  they  sunk  into 
real,  and  presently  I  heard  the  gurgle  of  snores. 

While  they  slept,  the  canoe  drifted  over  Whulge.  Fleet 
waters  bore  me  on  whither  they  listed,  fortunately  whither 
I  also  listed,  and,  if  ever  the  vessel  yawed,  a  few  quiet  strokes 
with  the  paddle  set  her  right  again.  The  current  drew  me 
away  from  under  shore,  and  to  the  south,  through  dis- 
tancing haze  of  summer,  the  noble  group  of  the  Olympian 


Mountains  became  visible, —  a  grand  family  of  vigorous 
growth,  worthy  more  perfect  knowledge.  They  fill  the 
southern  promontory,  where  Whulge  passes  into  the  Pacific, 
at  the  Straits  of  Fuca.  On  the  highest  pinnacles  of  this 
sierra,  glimmers  of  perpetual  snow  in  sheltered  dells  and 
crevices  gave  me  pleasant,  chilly  thoughts  in  that  hot 
August  day.  After  the  disgusting  humanity  of  King 
George's  realms,  and  after  the  late  period  of  rebellion  and 
disorganization,  the  calming  influence  of  these  azure 
luminous  peaks,  their  blue  slashed  with  silver,  was  tran- 

So  I  sat  watchful,  and  by  and  by  I  heard  a  gentle  voice, 
"Wake  nika  moosum;  I  sleep  not." 

"Sleepest  thou  not,  pretty  Duchess,  flat-faced  one, 
with  chevrons  vermilion  culminating  at  thy  nose-bridge? 
Wilt  thou  forgive  me  for  spilling  thy  nectar,  Lalage  of  the 
dulcet  laugh,  dulcet-spoken  Lalage?  Would  that  thou 
wert  clean  as  well  as  pretty,  and  had  known  but  seldom  the 
too  fragrant  salmon!  —  would  that  I  had  never  seen  thee 
toss  off  a  waterless  gill  of  fire-water!   Please  wake  the  Duke." 

The  Duke  woke.  Olyman  woke.  Woke  Klalams  one 
and  all.  Sleep  had  banished  wrath  and  rancor.  All  grasped 
their  paddles,  and,  soon  warming  with  work,  the  fugleman 
waked  a  wild  chant,  and  to  its  stirring  vibrations  the  canoe 
shook  and  leaped  forward  like  a  salmon  in  the  buzz  of  a 

We  careered  on  for  an  hour.  Then  I  suggested  a  pause 
and  a  picnic.  Brilliant  and  friendly  thought, — "Conoway 
tikky  muckamuck;"  all  want  to  eat.  Take  then,  my  par- 
doned crew,  from  my  stores,  portions  of  dried  cod.  Thin 
it  is,  translucent,  and  very  nice  for  Klalam  or  Yankee. 
Take  also  hardtack  at  discretion, — "pire  sapolel,"  or  fired 
corn,  as  ye  name  it.  Our  picnic  was  rumless,  wholesome, 
and  amicable,  and  after  it  paddling  and  songs  were  re- 
newed with  vigor.  We  were  not  alone  upon  Whulge.  Many 
lumber  vessels  were  drifting  or  at  anchor  under  the  opposite 


View   from   Victoria,    B.    C. 

"To  the  south,  through  distancing  haze  of  summer,  the 
noble  group  of  the  OljTnpian  Mountains  became  vis- 
ible,— a  grand  family  of  vigorous  growth,  worthy  more 
perfect  knowledge.  They  fill  the  southern  promontory, 
where  Whulge  passes  into  the  Pacific,  at  the  Straits  of 

—Chapter  III. 

MA'Jl  'iU  >TIAHT8  3HT  Q^IA  3DHMYJ0  3HT 
.AO'JT  3a 

-erv  amfiosd  eruelni/oM  neiqrcTilO  9f?J  to  qi/aig  sidon 
9iom  '{riJiov/  ,riJwoig  auoiosiv  lo  ylimfi]  brferg  fi — ,9[di 
,  iio^flomoiq  mgriJuca  9xf3  lift  Y^riT  .egbglwonsl  iToahgq 
\o  eJifi-iJS  adJ  Jb  .Dftbs*!  9dt  otai  aaeesq  98lt;dW  sisriw 

All  ■»^Jq05\0— 

WHULGE.  26 

shore,  loaded  mainly  with  fir-trees,  soon  to  be  drowned  as 
piles  for  San  Francisco  docks.  Those  were  prosperous  days 
in  the  Pacific.  The  country  which  goes  to  sea  through 
Whulge  had  recently  split  away  from  Oregon,  and  called 
itself  Washington,  after  the  General  of  that  name.  Indian 
Whulgeamish  and  Yankee  Whulgers  were  reasonably  polite 
to  each  other,  the  Pacific  Railroad  was  to  be  built  straight- 
way, Ormus  and  Ind  were  to  become  tributary.  It  was  the 
epoch  of  hope,  but  fruition  has  not  yet  come.  Savages  and 
Yankees  have  since  been  scalping  each  other  in  the  most 
uncivil  way,  the  P.  R.  R.  creeps  slowly  outward,  Ormus 
and  Ind  are  chary  of  tribute.  Dreams  of  growth  are  faster 
than  growth. 

The  persons  of  my  crew  have  been  described.  They 
all,  according  to  a  superstition  quite  common  among  Indians, 
declined  to  give  their  names,  or  even  an  alias,  as  other 
scamps  might  do,  except  the  Duke  and  Duchess,  proud  in 
their  foreign  appellatives.  I  will  substitute,  therefore,  the 
names  of  the  crew  of  another  canoe  in  which  I  had  previously 
voyaged  from  Squally  to  Vancouver  Island,  with  Dr.  Tol- 
mie,  factor  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  at  the  former 
place.  These  were:  1.  Unstu  or  Hahal,  the  handsome; 
2.  Mastu  or  La  Hache;  3.  Khaadza;  4.  Snawhaylal;  5. 
Ay-ay- whun,  briefly  A-wy;  6.  Ai-tu-so;  7.  Nuckutzoot; 
8.  Paicks;  and  two  women,  Tlaiwhal  and  Smoikit-um-whal, 
"Smoikit"  meaning  chief.  They  were  of  several  different 
tribes,  Squallyamish,  Skagits,  members  of  the  different 
"amish"  that  dwell  along  the  Sound,  and  two,  Ai-tu-so 
and  Nuckutzoot,  proudly  distinguished  themselves  as  Haida, 
a  generic  name  applied  to  nations  northward  of  Whulge. 
These  few  type  names,  not  without  melody  or  drollery, 
may  be  interesting  to  the  philo-siwash.  It  would  be  in- 
appropriate to  the  method  of  this  sketch  to  go  into  detail 
with  regard  to  Indians  of  Whulge.  But  literature  has  taken 
little  notice  of  those  distant  gentry,  and  before  they  retreat 
into  the  dim  past,  to  become  subjects  of  threnody  with  other 


lost  tribes,  let  me  chronicle  a  few  surface  facts  of  their  life 
and  manners. 

It  seems  a  sorry  thing,  but  is  really  a  wise  admonition 
of  Nature,  that  we  should  first  distinguish  in  people  their 
faults  and  deformities.  The  first  observation  when  one  of  the 
Whulgeamish  appears  is,  "Lo  the  flat-head!"  Among  them 
a  tight-strapped  cushion  controls  the  elastic  skull  of  child- 

Slwash  Mother  Flat-heading  her  Infant. 

hood,  crushing  it  back  idiotic.  Now  a  forehead  should  not 
be  too  round,  or  a  nose  too  straight,  or  a  cheek  too  ruddy, 
or  a  hand  too  small.  Nature,  however,  does  quite  well 
enough  by  those  she  means  to  be  flat-head  beauties.  In- 
dians do  not  recognize  this,  and  strive  to  better  Nature. 
Civilization,  beholding  the  total  failure  of  the  skull-crushing 
system,  is  warned,  and  resolves  to  discard  its  coxcombries 
and  deformities,  and  to  strive  to  develop,  not  to  distort, 
the  body  and  soul. 

WHULGE.  27 

Are  thoughts  equally  profound  to  be  suggested  by 
other  corporeal  members  of  Klalams  and  their  brethren? 
All  are  bow-legged.  All  of  a  sad-colored,  Caravaggio  brown, 
through  which  salmon-juices  exude,  and  which  is  varnished 
with  fish-oil.  All  have  coarse  black  hair,  and  are  beardless. 
Old  people  of  either  sex  are  hardly  to  be  distinguished, 
man  from  woman.  The  young  ladies  are  not  without  charms, 
and  blush  ingenuously.  The  fashion  of  fish-ivory  ornaments, 
hung  to  the  lower  lip,  has  retreated  northward,  and  glass 
beads  and  necklaces  of  hiaqua,  a  shell  like  a  quill  tooth-pick, 
conchologically  known  as  a  species  of  Dentalium,  have 
replaced  the  disgusting  labial  appendages.*  Hickory  shirts 
and  woollen  blankets  are  worn  instead  of  skin  raiment, 
mat  aprons,  and  Indian  blankets,  woven  of  the  hair  of  the 
fleecy  dog.  In  fact,  except  for  paint,  these  Indians  might 
pass  well  enough  for  dirty  lazzaroni. 

Gigantic  clams,  cod,  and  other  maritimes,  but  chiefly 
salmon,  are  the  food  of  the  Whulgeamish.  Ducks  and  geese 
visit  their  shores,  and  are  bagged.  No  infrequent  polecat 
skulks  about  their  unsavory  cabins,  and  meets  the  fatal 
arrow.  Grasshoppers  and  crickets,  dried,  yield  them  pies. 
They  cultivate  a  few  potatoes,  pluck  plentiful  berries,  and 
dig  sweet  kamas  bulbs  in  the  swamps.  Few  things  edible 
are  disdained  by  them. 

Once,  the  same  summer,  as  I  voyaged  with  a  crew  of 
the  Lummi  tribe  toward  Fraser  River,  they  discerned  a 
dead  seal  grotesquely  floating  on  the  water.  Him  they  em- 
barked, with  roars  of  laughter,  as  his  unwieldiness  slipped 
through  their  fingers;  and  they  supped  and  surfeited  un- 
harmed on  rancid  phoca  that  evening.  But  salmon,  netted, 
hooked,  trolled,  speared,  weired,  scooped, — salmon  taken  by 
various  sleight  of  savage  skill, — is  the  chief  diet  of  Whulge. 
In  the  tide-ways  toward  the  Sound's  mouth,  the  Indians 

*"Labret3"  are  still  somewhat  used  among  the  natives  of  British 
Columbia,  as  may  be  seen  in  the  illustration  from  a  recent  photograph 
showing  Haida  basket  makers  wearing  such  lip  ornaments  of  bone. 


anchor  two  canoes  parallel,  fifteen  feet  apart,  and  stretch 
a  flat  net  of  strips  of  inner  bark  between  them,  sinking  it 
just  below  the  surface.  They  don  a  head-gear  like  a  "rat's 
nest,"  conf ected  of  wool,  feathers,  furry  tails,  ribbons,  and 
rags,  considered  attractive  to  salmon,  and  "hyas  tamanous," 
highly  magical.  Salmon,  either  wending  their  unconscious 
way,  or  tuft-hunting  for  the  enchantments  of  the  magic  cap, 
come  swimming  in  shoals  across  the  suspended  net.  Where- 
upon every  fisher,  with  inconceivable  screeches,  whoops,  and 
howls,  beats  the  water  to  bewilder  the  silver  swimmers, 

Return   of   Siwash   Fishermen. 

and,  hauling  up  the  net,  clutches  them  by  dozens.  Some- 
times fleets  of  canoes  go  a  trolling,  one  fisherman  in  each 
slight  shallop.  He  fastens  his  line  to  his  paddle,  and  as  he 
paddles  trolls.  A  pretty  sight  to  behold  is  a  rocky  bay  of 
Whulge,  gay  with  a  fleet  of  these  agile  dugouts,  and  ever 
and  anon  illumined  with  a  gleam  when  a  salmon  takes  the 
bait.  In  the  voyage  I  have  mentioned  with  Dr.  Tolmie,  a 
squadron  of  such  trollers  near  the  Indian  village  of  Kowitchin 
crowded  about  us,  praying  to  be  vaccinated,  and  paying 
a  salmon  for  the  privilege.  Small-pox  is  the  fatalest  foe 
of  the  Indian. 

Spearmen  also  for  food  are  the  siwashes.    In  muddy 
streams,  where  Boston  eyes  would  detect  nothing,  Indian 

^  a 
a -5. 

<3  t« 



sees  a  ripple,  and  divines  a  fish.  He  darts  his  long  wooden 
spear,  and  out  it  ricochets,  with  a  banner  of  salmon  at  its 
point.  But  salmon  may  escape  the  coquettish  charms  of  the 
trolling-hook,  may  safely  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  parallel 
canoes  and  their  howling,  tamanoiis-cap  wearers;  the  spear, 
misguided  in  the  drumly  gleam,  may  glance  harmless  from 
scale-armed  shoulders:  still  other  perils  await  them.    These 

Cascades  of  the  Columbia,  ^ith  Indian  Fishing  from  a  Scaffolding 
over  the  Water. 

aristos  of  the  waters  need  change  of  scene.  Blubberly  fish 
may  dwell  through  a  life-long  pickle  in  the  briny  deep,  and 
grow  rancid  there  like  olives  too  salt,  but  the  delicate 
salmon  must  have  his  bubbles  from  the  brlinnen.  Besides, 
his  youthful  family,  the  parrs,  must  be  cradled  on  the  rip- 
ples of  a  running  stream,  and  in  innocent  nooks  of  freshness 
must  establish  their  vigor  and  consistency,  before  they 


brave  the  risks  of  cosmopolitan  ocean  life.  For  such  reasons 
gentleman  salmon  seeks  the  rivers,  and  Indian,  expecting 
him  there,  builds  a  palisade  of  poles  athwart  the  stream. 
The  traveller,  thus  obstructed,  whisks  his  tail,  and  coasts 
along,  seeking  a  passage.  He  finds  one,  and  dashes  through, 
but  is  stopped  by  a  shield  of  wicker-work,  and,  turning 
blindly,  plunges  into  a  fish-pot,  set  to  take  him  as  he  whirls 
to  retreat,  bewildered. 

At  the  magnificent  Cascades  of  the  Columbia,  the 
second-best  water  bit  on  our  continent,  there  is  more 
exciting  salmon-fishing  in  the  splendid  turmoil  of  the  rapids. 
Over  the  shoots,  between  boulders  and  rifts  of  rock,  the 
Indians  rig  a  scaffolding,  and  sweep  down  stream  with  a 
scoop-net.  Salmon,  working  their  way  up  in  high  exhilara- 
tion, are  taken  twenty  an  hour,  by  every  scooper.  He 
lifts  them  out,  brilliantly  sheeny,  and,  giving  them,  with  a 
blow  from  a  billet  of  wood,  a  hint  to  be  peaceable,  hands 
over  each  thirty-pounder  to  a  fusty  attache,  who,  in  turn, 
lugs  them  away  to  the  squaws  to  be  cleaned  and  dried. 

Thus  in  Whulge  and  at  the  Cascades  the  salmon  is 
taken.  And  now  behold  him  caught,  and  lying  dewy  in 
silver  death,  bright  as  an  unalloyed  dollar,  varnished  with 
opaline  iridescence.  "How  shall  he  be  cooked?"  asks  squaw 
of  sachem.  "Boil  him,  entoia,  my  beloved"  (Haida  tongue), 
"in  a  mighty  pot  of  iron,  plumping  in  store  of  wapatoo, 
which  pasaiooks,  the  pale-faces,  name  potatoes.  Or,  my 
cloocheman,  my  squaw,  roast  of  his  thicker  parts  sundry 
chunks  on  a  spit.  Or,  best  of  all,  split  and  broil  him  on  an 
upright  frame-work,  a  perpendicular  gridiron  of  aromatic 
twigs.  Thus  by  highest  simple  art,  before  the  ruddy  blaze, 
with  breezes  circumambient  and  wafting  away  any  mephitic 
kitcheny  exhalations,  he  will  toast  deliciously,  and  I  will 
feast  thereupon,  0  my  cloocheman,  whilst  thou,  0  working 
partner  of  our  house,  art  preparing  these  brother  fish  to 
be  dried  into  amber  transparency,  or  smoked  in  a  lachrymose 
cabin,  that  we  may  sustain  ourselves  through  dry-fish  Lent, 

WHULGE.  31 

after  this  fresh-fish  Carnival  is  over."  Such  discussions 
occur  not  seldom  in  the  drama  of  Indian  life. 

In  the  Bucentaur,  after  our  lunch  on  kippered  cod  and 
biscuits,  we  had  not  tarried.  Generally  in  that  region, 
in  breezeless  days  of  August,  smoke  from  burning  forests 
falls,  and  envelops  all  the  world  of  land  and  water.  In 
such  strange  chaos,  voyaging  without  a  compass  is  impossi- 
ble. Canoes  are  often  detained  for  days,  waiting  for  the 
smoke  to  lift.  To-day,  fortunately  for  my  progress,  there 
was  a  fresh  breeze  from  China-way.  Only  a  soft  golden 
haze  hung  among  the  pines,  and  toned  the  swarthy  coloring 
of  the  rocky  shores. 

All  now  in  good  humor,  and  Col.  Colt  in  retirement, 
we  swept  along  through  narrow  straits,  between  piny 
islands,  and  by  sheltered  bays  where  fleets  might  lie  hidden. 
With  harmonious  muscular  throes,  in  time  with  Indian  songs, 
the  three  stoutly  paddled.  The  Duke  generally  sogered, 
or  dipped  his  blade  with  sham  vehemence,  as  he  saw  me 
observing  him.  Olyman  steered  steadily,  a  Palinurus 
skilful  and  sleepless.  Jenny  Lind,  excusable  idler,  did  not 
belie  her  musical  name.  She  was  our  prima  donna,  and 
leader  of  the  chorus.  Often  she  uttered  careless  bursts  of 
song,  like  sudden  slants  of  rays  through  cloudiness, 
and  often  droned  some  drowsy  lay,  to  which  the 
crew  responded  with  disjointed,  lurching  refrain.  Few  of 
these  airs  were  musical  according  to  civilized  standards. 
Some  had  touches  of  wild  sentiment  or  power,  but  most 
were  grotesque  combinations  of  guttural  howls.  In  all, 
however,  there  were  tones  and  strains  of  irregular  original- 
ity, surging  up  through  monotony,  or  gleams  of  savage  ire 
suddenly  flashing  forth,  and  recalling  how  one  has  seen, 
with  shudders,  a  shark,  with  white  sierras  of  teeth,  gnash 
upon  him  not  far  distant,  from  a  bath  in  a  tropic  bay.  I 
found  a  singular  consolation  in  the  unleavened  music  of 
my  crew.  Why  should  there  not  be  throbs  of  rude  power 
in  aboriginal  song?    It  is  well  to  review  the  rudiments 



sometimes,  and  see  whether  we  have  done  all  we  might  in 
building  systems  from  the  primal  hints. 

The  songs  of  Chin  Lin,  Duchess  of  York,  chorussed 
by  the  fishy,  seemed  a  consoling  peace-offering.  The  under- 
tone of  sorrow  in  all  music  cheats  us  of  grief  for  our  own 
distress.  To  counteract  the  miseries  of  civilization,  we 
must  have  the  tender,  passionate  despairs  of  Favorita  and 


Chief  of  the  Duwamish  and  Suqamish  Federation,  after  whom 
tlie  City  of  Seattle  was  named. 

Traviata;  for  the  disgusts  of  barbarism  I  found  Indian  howls 
sufficient  relief. 

By  and  by,  with  sunset,  paddle-songs  died  away,  and 
the  Bucentaur  slowed.  The  tide  had  turned,  and  was  urgently 
against  us.  My  tired  crew  were  oddly  dropping  off  to 
sleep.  We  landed  on  the  shingle  for  repose  and  supper. 
Twilight  was  already  spreading  downward  from  the  zenith, 
and  pouring  gloom  among  the  sombre  pines.     Grotesque 


"According  to  a  cosmical  law  that  regulates  the  west 
ends  of  the  world,  Whulge  is  more  interesting  than  any 
of  the  eastern  waters  of  our  country.  Tame  Albemarle 
and  Pamlico,  Chesapeake  and  Delaware,  Long  Island 
Sound,  and  even  the  Maine  Archipelago  and  French- 
man's Bay,  cannot  compare  with  it.  Whulge  is  worthy 
of  the  Scandinavian  savor  of  its  name, — a  vast  fiord, 
parting  rocks  and  forests  primeval  with  a  mighty  tide." 

—Chapter  III. 

WHULGE.  83 

masses  of  blanched  drift-wood  strewed  the  shore  and  grouped 

themselves  about, — strange  semblances  of  monstrous  shapes, 
like  amorphous  idols,  dethroned  and  waiting  to  perish  by 
the  iconoclastic  test  of  fire.  Poor  Prometheus  may  have 
been  badly  punished  by  that  cruel  fowl  of  Caucasus,  but 
we  mortals  got  the  unquenchable  spark.  I  carried  a  modi- 
cum of  compact  flame  in  a  match-box,  and  soon  had  a  funeral 
pyre  of  those  heathenish  stumps  and  roots  well  ablaze, —  a 
glory  of  light  between  the  solemn  wall  of  the  forest  and  the 
dark  glimmering  flood. 

On  the  romantic  shores  of  Whulge,  illumined  by  my 
fire,  I  had  toasted  salt  pork  for  supper,  while  the  siwashes 
banqueted  to  repletion  on  dried  fish  and  the  unaccustomed 
luxury  of  hardtack,  and  were  genially  happy.  But  when, 
with  kindly  mind,  I,  their  chieftain,  brewed  them  a  princely 
pot  of  tea,  and  tossed  in  sugar  lavishly,  sprinkling  also  unper- 
ceivedly  the  beverage  with  forty  drops  from  the  captured 
lumoti,  and  gave  them  tobacco  enough  to  blow  a  cloud, 
then  happiness  capped  itself  with  gayety  and  merriment. 
They  heaped  the  pyre  with  fuel,  and  made  it  the  chief 
jester  of  their  jolly  circle,  chuckling  when  it  crackled,  and 
roaring  with  laughter  when  the  frantic  tongues  of  flame 
leaped  up,  and  shot  a  glare,  almost  fiendish,  over  the  wild 

I  sat  apart  with  my  dhudeen,  studying  the  occasion 
for  its  lesson.  "Would  I  be  an  Indian, —  a  duke  of  the 
Klalams?"  I  asked  myself.  "As  much  as  I  am  to-night, — 
no  more,  and  no  longer.  To-night  I  am  a  demi-savage,  jolly 
for  my  rest  and  my  supper,  and  content  because  my  hampers 
hold  enough  for  to-morrow.  I  can  identify  myself  thoroughly, 
and  delight  that  I  can,  with  the  untamed  natures  of  my 
comrades.  I  can  yield  myself  to  the  dominion  of  the  same 
impulses  that  sway  them  out  of  impassiveness  into  frantic 
excitement.  They  sit  here  over  the  fire,  now  jabbering 
lustily,  and  now  silent  and  drifting  along  currents  of  associa- 
tion, undiverted  by  discursive  thought,  until  some  pervading 


fancy  strikes  them  all  at  once,  and  again  all  is  animation 
and  guttural  sputter  of  sympathy.  I  can  also  let  myself 
go  bobbing  down  the  tide  of  thoughtless  thought,  until  I 
am  caught  by  the  same  shoals,  or  checked  by  the  same  reef, 
or  launched  upon  the  same  tumultuous  seas,  as  they.  These 
influences  are  primeval,  aboriginal,  fresh,  enlivening  for 
their  anti-cockney  savor.  Wretchedly  slab-sided,  and  not 
at  all  fitting  among  the  many-sided,  is  he  who  cannot  adapt 
himself  to  the  dreams  and  hopes,  the  awes  and  pleasures  of 
savage  life,  and  be  as  good  a  savage  as  the  brassiest 

"However,  it  is  not  amiss,"  continued  my  soliloquy, 
puffing  itself  away  with  the  last  whiffs  of  my  pipe,  "to  have 
the  large  results  of  the  world's  secular  toil  in  posse.  It  is 
sometimes  pleasant  to  lay  aside  the  resumable  ermine. 
It  is  easy  to  linger  while  one  has  a  hand  upon  the  locomotive's 
valve.  I  will,  on  the  whole,  remain  an  American  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  and  not  subside  into  a  Klalam  brave. 
Every  sincere  man  has,  or  ought  to  have,  his  differences  or 
his  quarrels  with  status  quo, —  otherwise  what  becomes  of 
the  millennium?  My  personal  grudge  with  the  present 
has  not  yet  brought  me  to  the  point  of  rupture  and  reaction." 

Had  I  uttered  these  reflections  in  a  prosy  lecture,  my 
fishy  suite  could  not  have  been  sounder  asleep  than  they 
now  were.  They  had  coiled  themselves  about  the  fire,  in 
genuine  slumber,  after  labor  and  overfeeding.  Without 
dread  of  treachery,  I  bivouacked  near  them.  I  was  more 
placable  and  less  watchful  than  I  should  have  been  had  I 
known  that  the  Kahtai  Klalams,  under  the  superintendence 
of  King  George  and  the  Duke,  were  in  the  habit  of  murder- 
ing. They  sacrificed  a  couple  of  pale-faced  victims  within 
the  year,  as  I  afterwards  was  informed.  However,  the 
lamb  lay  down  with  the  wolf,  and  suffered  no  harm.  From 
time  to  time  I  awoke,  and  rolled  another  log  upon  the  pyre, 
and  then  returned  to  my  uneasy  naps  on  the  pebbles,^ 
uneasy,  not  because  the  pebbles  dimpled   me  somewhat 

WmiLGE.  36 

harshly  through  my  blankets,  not  because  the  inextinguish- 
able stars  winked  at  me  fantastically  through  ether,  nor 
because  my  scalp  occasionally  gave  premonitions  of  depart- 
ure; but  because  I  did  not  wish,  when  offered  the  boon  of  a 
favorable  tide,  to  be  asleep  at  my  post  and  miss  it. 

A  new  flood-tide  was  about  to  be  sent  whirling  up  into 
the  bays  and  coves  and  nooks  of  Whulge  when  I  shook  up 
my  sobered  hero  of  the  libellous  teapots,  shook  up  Olyman 
and  his  young  men,  and  touched  the  Duchess  lightly  on 
the  shoulder,  as  she  lay  with  her  red-chevroned  visage 
turned  toward  the  zenith.  The  Duke  alone  grumbled,  and 
shirked  the  toil  of  launching  the  Bucentaur.  We  others 
went  at  it  heartily,  dragging  our  vessel  down  the  shingle 
to  the  chorus  of  a  guttural  De  Profundis.  It  was  an  hour 
before  dawn.  We  reloaded,  and  shoved  off  into  the  chill, 
star-lighted  void, —  a  void  where  one  might  doubt  whether 
the  upper  stars  or  the  nether  stars  were  the  real  orbs.  Our 
red  fire  watched  us  as  we  sailed  away,  glaring  after  us 
like  a  Cyclops  sentinel  until  we  rounded  a  point  and  passed 
out  of  his  range,  only  to  find  ourselves  sadly  gazed  at  by  a 
pale,  lean  moon  just  lifting  above  the  pines.  With  the 
flames  of  dawn  a  wind  arose  and  lent  us  wings.  I  succeeded 
in  inspiring  my  crew  with  a  stolid  intention  to  speed  me. 
A  comrade-ry  grew  up  between  me  and  the  truculent  black- 
guard who  wielded  the  bow  paddle,  so  that  he  essayed 
unintelligent  civilities  from  time  to  time,  and  when  we 
landed  to  breakfast,  at  a  point  where  a  giant  arbor-vitae 
stood  a  rich  pyramid  of  green,  he  brought  me  salal-berries, 
and  arbutus-leaves  to  dry  for  smoking;  meaning  perhaps  to 
play  Caliban  to  my  Stephano,  and  worshipping  him  who 
bore  the  lumoti.  The  Duke  remained  either  "hyas  kla  hye 
am,"  in  the  wretched  dumps,  or  "hyas  silex,"  in  the  deep 
sulks,  as  must  happen  after  an  orgie,  even  to  a  princely 
personage.  I  could  get  nothing  from  him,  either  in  philology 
or  legend, — nothing  but  the  Klalam  name  of  Whulge, 
K'uk'lults.    However,  thanks  to  a  strong  following   wind 


and  the  blanket-sail,  we  sped  on,  never  flinching  from  the 
tide  when  it  turned  and  battled  us. 

We  had  rounded  a  point,  and  opened  Puyallop  Bay,  a 
breadth  of  sheltered  calmness,  when  I,  lifting  sleepy  eyelids 
for  a  dreamy  stare  about,  was  suddenly  aware  of  a  vast 
white  shadow  in  the  water.  What  cloud,  piled  massive 
on  the  horizon,  could  cast  an  image  so  sharp  in  outline,  so 
full  of  vigorous  detail  of  surface?  No  cloud,  as  my  stare, 
no  longer  dreamy,  presently  discovered, —  no  cloud,  but  a 
cloud  compeller.  It  was  a  giant  mountain  dome  of  snow, 
swelling  and  seeming  to  fill  the  aerial  spheres  as  its  image 
displaced  the  blue  deeps  of  tranquil  water.  The  smoky 
haze  of  an  Oregon  August  hid  all  the  length  of  its  lesser 
ridges,  and  left  this  mighty  summit  based  upon  uplifting 
dimness.  Only  its  splendid  snows  were  visible,  high  in 
the  unearthly  regions  of  clear  blue  noonday  sky.  The  shore 
line  drew  a  cincture  of  pines  across  the  broad  base,  where 
it  faded  unreal  into  the  mist.  The  same  dark  girth 
separated  the  peak  from  its  reflection,  over  which  my  canoe 
was  now  pressing,  and  sending  wavering  swells  to  shatter  the 
beautiful  vision  before  it. 

Kingly  and  alone  stood  this  majesty,  without  any  visible 
comrade  or  consort,  though  far  to  the  north  and  the  south 
its  brethren  and  sisters  dominated  their  realms,  each  in 
isolated  sovereignty,  rising  above  the  pine-darkened  sierra 
of  the  Cascade  Mountains, — above  the  stern  chasm  where 
the  Columbia,  AchOles  of  rivers,  sweeps,  short-lived  and  ju- 
bilant, to  the  sea, —  above  the  lovely  vales  of  the  Willa- 
mette and  Umpqua.  Of  all  the  peaks  from  California  to 
Fraser  River,  this  one  before  me  was  royalest.  Mount 
Regnier  Christians  have  dubbed  it,  in  stupid  nomenclature 
perpetuating  the  name  of  somebody  or  nobody.*  More 
melodiously  the  siwashes  call  it  Tacoma, —  a  generic  term 
also  applied  to  all  snow  peaks.  Whatever  keen  crests  and 
crags  there  may  be  in  its  rock  anatomy  of  basalt,  snow 
*As  to  Winthrop's  error  here,  see  Appendix  A. 

WHULGE.  37 

covers  softly  with  its  bends  and  sweeping  curves.  Tacoma, 
under  its  ermine,  is  a  crushed  volcanic  dome,  or  an  ancient 
volcano  fallen  in,  and  perhaps  as  yet  not  wholly  lifeless. 
The  domes  of  snow  are  stateliest.  There  may  be  more  of 
feminine  beauty  in  the  cones,  and  more  of  masculine  force 
and  hardihood  in  the  rough  pyramids,  but  the  great  domes 
are  calmer  and  more  divine;  and,  even  if  they  have  failed 
to  attain  absolute  dignified  grace  of  finish,  and  are  riven 
and  broken  down,  they  still  demand  our  sympathy  for 
giant  power,  if  only  partially  victor.  Each  form  —  the 
dome,  the  cone,  and  the  pyramid  —  has  its  tjT)e  among 
the  great  snow  peaks  of  the  Cascades. 

And  now  let  the  Duke  of  York  drowse,  the  Duchess 
cease  awhile  longer  her  choking  chant,  and  the  rest  nap  it 
on  their  paddles,  floating  on  the  image  of  Tacoma,  while  I 
ask  recognition  for  the  almost  unknown  glories  of  the 
Cascade  Mountains.  We  are  poorly  off  for  such  objects 
east  of  the  Mississippi.  There  are  some  roughish  excrescences 
known  as  the  Alleghanies.  There  is  a  knobby  group  of 
brownish  "Wliite  Mountains.  Best  of  all,  high  in  Down- 
East  is  the  lonely  Katahdin.  Hillocks  these, —  never 
among  them  one  single  summit  brilliant  forever  with  snow, 
golden  in  sunshine,  silver  when  sunshine  has  gone;  not  one 
to  bloom  rosy  at  dawn,  and  to  be  a  vision  of  refreshment 
all  the  sultry  summer  long;  not  one  to  be  lustrous  white 
over  leagues  of  woodland,  sombre  or  tender;  not  one  to 
repeat  the  azure  of  heaven  among  its  shadowy  dells. 
Exaltation  such  as  the  presence  of  the  sublime  and  solemn 
heights  arouses,  we  dwellers  eastward  cannot  have  as  an 
abiding  influence.  Other  things  we  may  have,  for  Nature 
will  not  let  herself  anywhere  be  scorned;  but  only  moun- 
tains, and  chief  est  the  giants  of  snow,  can  teach  whatever 
lessons  there  may  be  in  vaster  distances  and  deeper  depths 
of  palpable  ether,  in  lonely  grandeur  without  desolation, 
and  in  the  illimitable,  bounded  within  an  outline.  There- 
fore, needing  all  these  emotions  at  their  maximum,  we  were 


compelled  to  make  pilgrimages  back  to  the  mountains  of 
the  Old  World, —  commodiously  as  may  be  when  we  con- 
sider sea-sickness,  passports,  Murray's  red-covers,  and 
h-less  Britons  everywhere.  Yes,  back  to  the  Old  World 
we  went,  and  patronized  the  Alps,  and  nobly  satisfying 
we  found  them.  But  we  were  forced  to  inspect  also  the 
heritage  of  human  institutions,  and  such  a  mankind  as  they 
had  made  after  centuries  of  opportunity, —  and  very  sadly 
depressing  we  found  the  work,  so  that,  notwithstanding 
many  romantic  joys  and  artistic  pleasures,  we  came  back 
malcontent.  Let  us,  therefore,  develop  our  own  world. 
It  has  taken  us  two  centuries  to  discover  our  proper  West 
across  the  Mississippi,  and  to  know  by  indefinite  hearsay 
that  among  the  groups  of  the  Rockies  are  heights  worth 

Farthest  away  in  the  west,  as  near  the  western  sea  as 
mountains  can  stand,  are  the  Cascades.  Sailors  can  descry 
their  landmark  summits  firmer  than  cloud,  a  hundred 
miles  away.  Kulshan,  misnamed  Mount  Baker  by  the  vulgar, 
is  their  northernmost  buttress,  up  at  49°  and  Fraser  River. 
Kulshan  is  an  irregular,  massive,  mound-shaped  peak, 
worthy  to  stand  a  white  emblem  of  perpetual  peace  between 
us  and  our  brother  Britons.  The  northern  regions  of 
Whulge  and  Vancouver  Island  have  Kulshan  upon  their 
horizon.  They  saw  it  blaze  the  winter  before  this  journey 
of  mine;  for  there  is  fire  beneath  the  Cascades,  red  war 
suppressed  where  the  peaks,  symbols  of  truce,  stand  in 
resplendent  quiet.  Kulshan  is  best  seen,  as  I  saw  it  one 
afternoon  of  that  same  August,  from  an  upland  of  Vancouver 
Island,  across  the  golden  waves  of  a  wheat-field,  across  the 
glimmering  waters  of  the  Georgian  Sound,  and  far  above 
its  belt  of  misty  gray  pine-ridges.  The  snow-line  here  is 
at  five  thousand  feet,  and  Kulshan  has  as  much  height  in 
snow  as  in  forest  and  vegetation.  Its  name  I  got  from  the 
Lummi  tribe  at  its  base,  after  I  had  dipped  in  their  pot  at  a 
boiled-salmon  feast.    As  to  Baker,  that  name  should  be 

WHULGE.  89 

forgotten.  Mountains  should  not  be  insulted  by  being 
named  after  undistinguished  bipeds,  nor  by  the  prefix  of  Mt. 
Mt.  Chimborazo,  or  Mt.  Dhawalaghiri,  seems  as  feeble 
as  Mr.  Julius  Caesar,  or  Signor  Dante. 

South  of  Kulshan,  the  range  continues  dark,  rough,  and 
somewhat  unmeaning  to  the  eye,  until  it  is  relieved  by 
Tacoma,  vulgo  Regnier.  Upon  this  Tacoma's  image  I 
was  now  drifting,  and  was  about  to  make  nearer  acquaint- 
ance with  its  substance.  One  cannot  know  too  much  of  a 
nature's  nobleman.  Tacoma  the  second,  which  Yankees 
call  Mt.  Adams,  is  a  clumsier  repetition  of  its  greater 
brother,  but  noble  enough  to  be  the  pride  of  a 
continent.  Dearest  charmer  of  all  is  St.  Helens,  queen  of 
the  Cascades,  queen  of  Northern  America,  a  fair  and  grace- 
ful volcanic  cone.  Exquisite  mantling  snows  sweep  along 
her  shoulders  toward  the  bristling  pines.  Sometimes  she 
showers  her  realms  with  a  boon  of  light  ashes,  to  notify 
them  that  her  peace  is  repose,  not  stupor  ;  and  sometimes 
lifts  a  beacon  of  tremulous  flame  by  night  from  her  summit. 
Not  far  from  her  base  the  Columbia  crashes  through  the 
mountains  in  a  magnificent  chasm,  and  Mt.  Hood,  the 
vigorous  prince  of  the  range,  rises  in  a  keen  pyramid  fourteen 
or  sixteen  thousand  feet  high,  rivalling  his  sister  in  glory .  * 
Mt.  Jefferson  and  others  southward  are  worthy  snow  peaks, 

*The  heights  of  the  several  northwestern  snow-peaks  described  in 
this  chapter  are  given  by  the  United  States  Geological  Survey's  "Dic- 
tionary of  Altitudes,"  as  follows:  Mt.  Rainier,  14,363;  Mt.  Adams, 
12,470;  Mt.  Hood,  11,225;  Mt.  Baker,  10,827;  Mt.  St.  Helens,  10,000. 
Early  Oregonians,  as  Winthrop  hints,  held  greatly  exaggerated  notions 
of  the  height  of  Mt.  Hood.  A  member  of  the  first  party  to  reach  its  sum- 
mit, Thomas  J.  Dryer,  editor  of  the  Portland  Oregonian,  published  an 
account  of  the  ascent  in  which  he  asserted  with  fine  exactness,  if  not  ac- 
curacy, that  the  elevation  was  18,361  feet ! 

This  ascent  was  made  August  4,  1854.  The  leader  of  the  party  was 
William  Barlow,  son  of  Captain  Samuel  K.  Barlow,  builder  of  the  famous 
"Barlow  Road"  across  the  Cascades  south  of  Mt.  Hood,  by  which  many 
thousands  of  settlers  entered  the  Willamette  Valley. 

Dryer  had  climbed  Mt.  St.  Helens  a  year  before.  His  published  ac- 
count says  he  was  accompanied  by  "Messrs.  Wilson,  Smith,  and  Drew." 

St.  Helens  was  frequently  in  eruption  during  the  first  years  of  white 
settlement,  and  down  to  about  1842.     This  is  noted  in  the  journals 


but  not  comparable  with  these;  and  then  this  masterly 
family  of  mountains  dwindles  ruggedly  away  toward  Cali- 
fornia and  the  Shasta  group. 

The  Cascades  are  known  to  geography, —  their  summits 
to  the  lists  of  volcanoes.  Several  gentlemen  in  the  United 
States  Army,  bored  in  petty  posts,  or  squinting  along 
Indian  trails  for  Pacific  railroads,  have  seen  these  monu- 
ments. A  few  myriads  of  Oregonians  have  not  been 
able  to  avoid  seeing  them,  have  perhaps  felt  their  enno- 
bling influence,  and  have  written,  boasting  that  St.  Helens 
or  Hood  is  as  high  as  Blanc.  Enterprising  fellows  have 
climbed  both.   But  the  millions  of  Yankees  —  from  codfish 

of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Fort  at  Vancouver,  and  in  the  private  letters 
and  diaries  of  the  time.  These  records  show  that  the  expulsion  of  ashes 
was  sometimes  so  tremendous  as  to  darken  the  sky  at  Vancouver  for 
days  at  a  time,  and  more  than  once  ashes  are  reported  to  have  fallen 
in  considerable  amount,  as  far  away  as  The  Dalles. 

Mt.  Adams  was  first  ascended  in  the  same  year  as  Mt.  Hood,  the 
successful  climbers  being  Col.  B.F.Shaw,  Glen  Aiken,  and  Edward  J. 
Allen,  the  builder  of  the  Naches  Pass  road. 

Fourteen  years  later  Mt.  Baker  was  climbed,  after  several  unsuc- 
cessful attempts,  by  Edmund  T.  Coleman,  an  English  landscape  painter 
then  living  in  Victoria.  His  party  included  Thomas  Stratton  of  Port 
Townsend,  David  Ogilvy  of  Victoria,  and  a  settler  named  Tenant. 

The  highest  and  noblest  of  all  these  snow  mountains  remained  longest 
unconquered.  Dr.  William  F.  Tolmie  had  made  a  botanizing  trip  to  the 
upland  "parks"  in  1833,  being  the  first  white  man  to  visit  the  peak. 
His  visit  resulted  in  the  first  discovery  and  announcement  of  the  exist- 
ence of  glaciers  in  the  present  territory  of  the  United  States  south  of 
Alaska.  In  1857,  Lieutenant  (later  General)  A.  V.  Kautz,  accompanied 
by  several  soldiers  from  Fort  Nisqually,  first  attempted  the  ascent,  and 
reached  the  crest  of  South  Peak,  a  few  hundred  feet  lower  than  the  ac- 
tual summit.  Thirteen  years  later,  on  August  17,  1870,  this  summit, 
now  known  as  Columbia's  Crest,  was  gained  by  Gen.  Hazard  Stevens, 
son  of  the  Territory's  first  governor,  who  had  himself  served  with  dis- 
tinction as  a  young  officer  during  the  Civil  War,  and  was  then  living  at 
Olympia  as  United  States  collector  of  internal  revenue;  and  Philemon 
Beecher  Van  Trump,  of  Yelm,  Wash,  General  Stevens  published  a  de- 
lightful account  of  their  feat,  "The  Ascent  of  Takhoma,"  in  the  Atlantic 
Monthly  of  November,  1876.  Widely  acquainted  with  Indians  of  the 
territorial  period,  he  says: 

"Tak-ho-ma,  or  Ta-ho-ma,  among  the  Yakimas,  Klickitats,  Puy- 
allups,  Nisquallys,  and  allied  tribes  is  the  generic  term  for  mountain, 
used  precisely  as  we  use  the  word  'Mount,'  as  Takhoma  Wynatchie,  or 
Mount  Wynatchie.  But  they  all  designate  Rainier  simply  as  Takhoma, 
or  The  Mountain,  just  as  the  mountain  men  used  to  call  it  'Old  He.'  " 

WHULGE.  41 

to  alligators,  chewers  of  spruce-gum  or  chewers  of  pig-tail, 
cooks  of  chowder  or  cooks  of  gumbo  —  know  little  of 
these  treasures  of  theirs.  Poet  comes  long  after  pioneer. 
Mountains  have  been  waiting,  even  in  ancient  worlds,  for 
cycles,  while  mankind  looked  upon  them  as  high,  cold, 
dreary,  crushing, —  as  resorts  for  demons  and  homes  of 
desolating  storms.  It  is  only  lately,  in  the  development 
of  men's  comprehension  of  nature,  that  mountains  have 
been  recognized  as  our  noblest  friends,  our  most  exhalting 
and  inspiring  comrades,  our  grandest  emblems  of  divine 
power  and  divine  peace.* 

More  of  these  majesties  of  the  Cascades  hereafter;  but 
now  meseems  that  I  have  long  enough  interrupted  the 
desultory  progress  of  my  narrative.  We  have  floated  long 
enough,  my  Klalam  braves,  on  the  white  reflection  of 
Tacoma.  To  thy  paddle,  then,  sluggard  Duke.  Dip  and 
plough  into  Whulge,  ye  salmon-fed.  Squally  and  blankets 
be  the  war-cry  of  our  voyage. 

But  first  obey  the  injunction  of  an  Indian  ditty,  oddly 
sung  to  the  air  of  Malbrook:^ — 

"Klatawah  ocook  polikely, 
Klatawah  Steilacoom;" 

"Go  to-night, —  go  to  Steilacoom."  Steilacoom  was  a  mili- 
tary post  a  mile  inland  from  Whulge.  It  had  a  port  on  the 
Sound,  consisting  of  one  warehouse,  where  every  requisite 
of  pioneer  hfe  was  to  be  had.  Thither  I  directed  my  course, 
pork  and  hardtack  to  buy,  compact  prog  for  my  mountain 
journey.  Also,  because  I  could  not  ride  the  leagues  of  a 
transcontinental  trip,  barebacking  the  bonyness  of  prau-ie 
nags,  a  friend  had  given  me  an  order  for  a  capital  saddle  of 
his,  stored  there.    The  crafty  trader  at  Port  Steilacoom 

♦Appreciation  of  the  mountains  and  interest  in  their  exploration 
are  modern  to  a  degree  that  Western  Americans  can  now  scarcely  under- 
stand. As  late  as  1854,  Murray's  "Handbook  for  Switzerland"  con- 
tained such  discouragements  to  the  mountain-climber  as  the  following: 
"The  ascent  of  Mont  Blanc  is  attempted  by  few.    Those  who  are  im- 


denied  the  existence  of  my  friend's  California  saddle,  a 
grandly  roomy  one  I  had  often  bestrode,  and  substituted 
for  it  an  incoherent  dragoon  saddle.  He  hoped,  the  scamp, 
that  my  friend  would  never  return  to  claim  his  property, 
and  he  would  be  left  residuary  legatee. 

Some  strange  Indians  lounging  here  gave  a  helpful 
fact.  The  Klickatats,*  so  the  Sound  Indians  name  generally 
the  Yakimahs  and   other  ultramontane  tribes,   had  just 

pelled  by  curiosity  alone  are  hardly  justified  in  risking  the  lives  of  the 
guides.  It  is  somewhat  remarkable  that  a  large  proportion  of  those 
who  have  made  the  ascent  have  been  persons  of  unsound  mind." 

Many  curious  superstitions  worthy  of  the  Middle  Ages  centered 
about  the  great  peaks  of  the  Alps  until  comparatively  recent  times. 
To  the  dw^eller  in  the  Swiss  valleys,  the  high  plateaus  were  inhabited 
by  rock-eating  chamois,  and  their  lakes  had  the  marvelous  property 
of  swallowing  up  those  who  fell  asleep  on  their  banks.  Before  the 
modern  era  of  mountain-climbing,  the  natives  living  at  the  feet  of  the 
peaks  believed  them  to  be  inhabited  by  goblins  and  afrits,  who  would 
visit  destruction  upon  all  that  might  attempt  to  invade  the  heights. 
Visitors  to  Lucerne  are  familiar  with  the  legend  that  connects  the  moun- 
tain Pilatus  with  the  name  of  Pontius  Pilate,  whose  unhappy  spirit  is 
said  to  dwell  upon  the  summit.  In  his  first  efforts  to  scale  the  Matter- 
horn,  Whymper  had  to  overcome  not  only  the  difficulties  of  a  virgin 
peak,  but  the  terror  and  superstition  of  his  guides.  The  natives  of  the 
Val  Tournanche,  he  found,  were  convinced  that  on  the  summit  of  the 
Matterhorn  was  a  ruined  city,  the  abode  of  the  Wandering  Jew  and  the 
spirits  of  the  damned. — Whymper:    Scrambles  amongst  the  Alps,  Ch.  IV. 

When  Stevens  and  Van  Trump  reached  the  snow-line  on  their  ascent 
of  Tacoma  in  1870,  their  Indian  guide,  Sluiskin,  refused  to  accompany 
them  farther,  because  he  feared  the  anger  of  the  mountain  deity;  and 
when  they  dechned  to  heed  his  warnings,  he  spent  the  night  in  chant- 
ing a  weird  dirge  in  anticipation  of  their  fate,  and  parted  with  them 
in  the  morning,  convinced  that  they  would  never  return.  When  they 
reappeared  the  next  day,  after  a  night  on  the  summit,  he  could  not  easily 
be  persuaded  that  they  were  real  men,  and  not  some  new  kind  of  klale 
tamanous,   black   magic. 

*"The  Yakimas,  including  outlying  bands,  were  over  3,900  strong, 
and  occupied  the  large  region  between  the  Columbia  and  the  Cascades, 
with  their  principal  abodes  in  the  Yakima  Valley.  One  band,  the  Pa- 
louses,  lived  on  the  Palouse  River,  on  the  north  side  of  the  Snake  and 
east  of  the  Columbia,  next  the  Nez  Perce  country.  Large  bands  of  the 
Yakimas  had  crossed  the  Cascades  and  were  pressing  on  the  feebler 
races  on  the  west,  by  whom  they  were  appropriately  termed  'Klik-i-tats,' 
or  robbers." — Life  of  Isaac  Ingalls  Stevens,  by  Hazard  Stevens,  II.,  22. 

The  other  great  family  of  the  upper  Columbia  basin  was  the  Sa- 
haptin.  This  included  the  Cayuses,  Walla  Wallas,  Nez  Perces,  and  Flat- 
heads.  Snowden  characterizes  these  tribes  as  "among  the  brightest  and 
most  powerful  of  the  native  people." 


OS  a 
O   g 


'^  I 

•51     03 
Oh     ^ 

^^    .9 
<1     S 


arrived  at  Nisqually,  on  their  annual  trading-trip.  Horses 
and  a  guide  I  could  surely  get  from  them  for  crossing  the 
Cascades  into  their  country.  Here  I  heard  first  the  mighty 
name  of  Owhhigh,  a  chief  of  the  Klickatats,  their  noblest 
horse-thief,  their  Diomed.  He  was  at  Nisqually,  with  his  tail 
on, —  his  tail  of  bare-legged  highlanders, —  buying  blankets 
and  sundries,  with  skins,  furs,  and  stolen  steeds. 

Squally,  euphonized  to  Nisqually,  is  six  or  seven  miles 
from  Steilacoom.  We  sped  along  near  the  shore,  just 
away  from  the  dense  droop  of  the  water-wooing  arbor-vitae 

"How  now,  my  crew?  Why  this  sudden  check?  Why 
this  agitated  panic?  What,  Dookeryawk!  Are  ye  paralyzed 
by  Tamanoiis,  by  demoniacal  influence?" 

"By  fear  are  we  paralyzed,  0  kind  protector,"  responded 
the  Klalam.  "Foes  to  us  always  are  the  Squallyamish. 
But  more  cruel  foes  are  the  mountain  horsemen.  We  dare 
not  advance.    Conoway  quash  nesika;  cowards  all  are  we." 

"Fear  naught,  my  cowards.  The  retinue  of  my  high 
mightiness  is  safe,  and  shall  be  honored.  Ye  shall  not  be 
maltreated,  nor  even  punished  by  me  for  your  misdeeds. 
Have  a  mighty  heart  in  your  breasts,  and  onward." 

Panic  over,  we  paddled  lustily,  and  soon  landed  at  a 
high  bluff, —  the  port  of  Nisqually.  We  hauled  up  the  Bu- 
centaur,  grateful  to  the  talisman  shells  along  its  gunwale, 
that  they  had  guarded  us  against  Bugaboo.  I  looked 
my  last,  for  that  time,  upon  the  sturdy  tides  of  Whulge, 
and  led  the  way  under  the  oaks  toward  the  Fort. 

Incised  Design  on  Stone  Dish.     From  Priest  Rapids. 



It  was  harsh  penance  to  a  bootless  man  to  tramp  the 
natural  macadam  of  minced  trap-rock  on  the  plateau 
above  the  Sound.  The  little  pebbles  of  the  adust  volcanic 
pavement  cut  my  moccasined  feet  like  unboiled  peas  of 
pilgrimage.  I  marched  along  under  the  oaks  as  stately 
as  frequent  limping  permitted.  My  motley  retinue  followed 
me  humbly,  bearing  "ikta,"  my  traps,  and  their  own  plun- 
der. Their  demeanor  was  crushed  and  cringing,  greatly 
changed  since  the  truculent  scene  over  the  captured  lumoti, 
which  I  still  kept  as  a  trophy,  hung  at  my  waist  to  balance 
my  pistol. 

After  a  walk  of  a  mile,  with  my  body-guard  of  shabby 
S'Klalam  aristocrats,  I  entered  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany's fort  of  Nisqually.  Disrepute  draggled  after  me,  but 
my  character  was  already  established  in  a  previous  visit. 
I  had  left  Dr.  Tolmie,  the  factor,  at  Vancouver  Island; 
Mr.  H.,  his  substitute,  received  me  hospitably  at  the 
postern.*  Nisqually  is  a  palisaded  enclosure,  two  hun- 
dred feet  square.  Bartizan  towers  protect  its  corners.  Within 
are  blockhouses  for  goods  and  furs,  and  one-story  cottages 
for  residence. 

*Dr.  William  Fraser  Tolmie  had  come  to  this  country  from  Edin- 
burgh in  1833,  as  a  surgeon  for  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company.  He  be- 
caTie  a  trader,  and  was  for  many  years  the  Company's  chief  factor  at 
Fort  Nisqually.  Soon  after  the  discovery  of  gold  on  the  Fraser  River 
in  1857,  he  removed  to  Victoria,  where  he  continued  in  charge  of  the  Com- 
pany's affairs  until  1870.  He  was  succeeded  at  Nisqually  by  Edward 
Huggins,  an  Englishman,  who  came  to  the  coast  in  1850,  and  who  con- 
tinued as  chief  factor  until  the  United  States  took  over  the  Company's 
property  in  1869. 



Indian  leaguers  have  of  yore  beset  this  fort.  Indians 
have  lifted  Indians  up  toward  the  fifteenth  and  topmost 
foot  of  the  fir  palisades.  Shots  from  the  loopholes  of  the 
bartizans  dropped  the  assailants,  and  left  them  lying  on 
the  natural  macadam  without.  Whereupon  the  survivors 
retired,  and  consulted  about  fire;  but  that  fatal  foe  was 

Hudson's  Bay  Company's  Factor  In  Charge  at  Fort  Nlsqually. 

also  defeated  by  the  death  of  every  incendiary  as  he  ap- 

To  visit  such  a  place  is  to  recall  and  illustrate  all  our 
early  New-England  history.  Our  forefathers  fled,  in  King 
Philip's  time,  to  just  such  refuges.  Personal  contact  with 
a  similar  state  of  facts  makes  their  forgotten  perils  real. 
In  that  recent  antiquity,  pioneers  exposed  to  the  indiscrimi- 
nate revenge  of  the  savage  flew  from  cabin  and  clearing 
to  stockades  far  less  defensible  than  this.    Better  its  inse- 


cure  shelter  for  wife  and  child  than  the  terror  of  a  forest 
forever  seeming  aglare  with  cruel  eyes, —  where  the  forester 
could  never  banish  the  curdling  consciousness  of  an  unseen 
presence,  watching  until  the  assassin  moment  came;  where 
the  silence  might  hear  other  sounds  than  the  hum  of  insects 
or  the  music  of  birds, —  might  hear  the  scoffing  yell  of 
Indians,  contemptuous  victors  over  the  race  that  scorned 
them.  What  wonder  that  the  agonies  of  such  suspense 
stirred  up  the  settlers  to  cowardly  slaughter  of  every  savage, 
friend  or  foe?  A  frightened  man  becomes  a  barbarian 
and  a  brute.  Fear  is  a  miserable  agent  of  civilization.  We 
can  hardly  now  connect  ourselves  with  that  period.  No 
longer,  when  twigs  crackle  in  the  forest,  do  we  shrink  lest 
the  parting  leaves  may  reveal  a  new-comer,  with  whom 
we  must  race  for  life.  Larceny  is  disgusting,  burglary  is 
unpleasant,  arson  is  undesirable,  murder  is  one  of  the  foul 
arts;  Indians  were  adepts  in  all  of  these  trades  at  once. 
Any  reminiscence  of  a  condition  from  which  we  have  happily 
escaped  is  agreeable.  This  palisade  fort  was  a  monument 
of  a  past  age  to  me.  It  made  me  two  hundred  years  old  at 

A  monument,  but  not  a  cenotaph;  on  the  contrary,  it 
was  full  of  bustling  life.  Rusty  Indians,  in  all  degrees  of 
frowziness  of  person  and  costume,  were  trading  at  the  shop 
for  the  three  6's  c  Indian  desire, —  blankets,  beads,  and 
'baccy, —  representatifves  of  need,  vanity,  and  luxury.  The 
Klickatats  had  indeed  arrived.  To-morrow  Owhhigh  and 
the  grandees  were  to  come  in  from  their  camp  to  buy  and 
sell.  All  the  squaws  purchasing  to-day  were  hags  beyond 
the  age  of  coquetry  in  costume,  yet  they  were  buying  beads 
and  hanging  them  in  hideous  contrast  about  their  baggy, 
wrinkled  necks,  and  then  glowering  for  admiration  with 
dusky  eyes.  These  were  valued  customers,  since  they 
knew  the  tariff,  and  never  haggled,  but  paid  cash  or  its 
equivalent,  otter,  beaver,  and  skunk  skins,  and  similar 
treasures.     The   pretty   girls   would   come   afterward,   as 



money  failed,  and  try   to  make  their  winsome  smiles  a 
substitute  for  funds. 

In  contrast  to  these  unpleasant  objects,  a  very  handsome 
and  gentlemanly  young  brave  entered  just  after  me,  and 
came  forward  as  I  was  greeting  Mr.  H.  He  was  tall  and 
loungingly  graceful,  and  so  fair  that  there  must  have  been 
silver  in  the  copper  of  his  blood.    This  rather  supercilious 

EDWARD   HUGGINS:      Last  Factor  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company    at 
Fort  NIsQually;   the  "Mr.  H."  of  Chapter  IV. 

personage  was,  he  told  me,  of  Owhhigh's  band,  not  by 
nation  but  by  adoption.  He  was  a  Spokan  from  the  Upper 
Columbia,  a  volunteer  among  the  Klickatats,  perhaps 
because  their  method  of  filibusterism  was  attractive,  per- 
haps because  there  was  a  vendetta  for  him  at  home.  He 
wore  a  semi-civilized  costume, —  coat  of  black  from  some 
far-away  slop-shop  of  Britain,  fringed  leggins  of  buckskin 
from  the  lodge  of  a  Klickatat  tailoress.    A  broad-beaded 

48         THE  CANOE  AND  THE  SADDLE. 

band  crossed  his  breast,  like  the  ribbon  of  an  order  of  nobil- 
ity. The  incongruity  in  his  costume  was  redeemed  by  his 
cool,  dignified  bearing.  He  was  an  Adonis  of  Nature, 
not  a  rubicund  Adonis  of  the  D'Orsay  type.  While  we  talked, 
he  kept  a  cavalier's  advantage,  not  dismounting  from  his 
fiery  little  saddleless  black. 

Him,  by  Mr.  H.'s  advice,  I  prayed  to  be  my  ambassador 
to  the  great  Owhhigh.  Would  that  dignitary  permit  me 
an  interview  to-morrow,  and  purvey  me  horses  and  a  guide 
for  my  dash  through  his  realm?  My  Spokan  Adonis,  with 
the  self-possessed  courtesy  of  a  high-bred  Indian,  accepted 
the  office  of  negotiator,  and  ventured  to  promise  that 
Owhhigh  would  speed  me.  But  in  case  Adonis  should 
prove  faithless,  or  Owhhigh  indifferent,  Mr.  H.  despatched 
a  messenger  at  once  for  one  of  the  Company's  voyageurs, 
now  a  quiet  colonist,  who  could  resume  the  rover,  and  guide 
me,  if  other  guidance  failed,  anywhere  in  the  Northwest. 

I  now  conducted  the  Duke  and  my  party  to  the  shop, 
and  served  out  to  them  one  two-and-a-half-point  blanket 
apiece,  and  one  to  Olyman  for  the  Bucentaur,  accompanying 
the  boon  with  a  lecture  on  the  evils  of  intemperance  and  the 
duty  of  faithfulness.  They  seemed  quite  pleased  now  that 
they  had  not  butchered  and  scalped  me,  and  expressed 
the  friendliest  sentiments,  perhaps  with  a  view  to  a  liberal 
"potlatch"  of  trinkets.  They  also  besought  permission  to 
encamp  in  the  fort,  lest  pillage  should  befall  them.  It  was 
growing  dark,  and  the  different  parties  of  Indians  admitted 
within  the  palisades  were  grouped,  gypsy-like,  about  their 
cooking-fires.  Some  of  these  unbrotherly  siwashes  cast 
wolf's-eyes  upon  my  Klalams,  now  an  enviable  and  plunder- 
able  squad.  These  latter,  wealthy  and  well-blanketed, 
skulked  away  into  a  corner,  and  when  I  saw  them  last,  by 
their  fire-light,  the  Duke,  more  like  a  degraded  ecclesiastic 
than  ever,  was  haranguing  his  family,  while  Jenny  Lind 
sat  at  his  feet,  and  bent  upon  him  untruthful  eyes.  At  morn 
they  were  not  to  be  seen;  the  ducal  pair,  Olyman  and  the 



fishy,  all  had  vanished.  A  few  unconsidered  trifles,  such 
as  a  gun,  a  blanket,  and  a  basket  of  kamas-roots,  property 
of  the  unbrotherly,  had  vanished  with  them.  Unconsidered 
trifles  will  stumble  against  the  shins  of  Indians,  stealing 
away  at  night. 

As  these  representatives  of  Klalam  civilization  now 
make  final  exit  from  my  narrative,  I  must  give  them  a 
proper  "teapot."    They  may  be  taken  as  types  of  the  worse 

OOLONEL    MICHAEL   T.    SIMMONS  :      Appointed   by    Gov.    Stevens    In 

1853   as    Indian   Agent   for   the   Puget    Sound   Tribes. 

Famous  as  "the  Daniel  Boone  of  the  Territory." 

character  of  the  coast  Indians, — jolly  brutes,  with  the  bad 
and  the  good  traits  of  savages,  and  much  harmed  by  the 
besettings  of  civilized  temptations. 

I  cannot  omit  from  the  Duke  of  York's  teapot  facts 
within  my  own  observation, — that  he  was  drunken,  idle, 
insolent,  and  treacherous, —  nor  the  hearsay  fact  that  he 
has  since  been  beguiled  into  murders;  but  I  must  notice 
also  his  apologies  of  race,  circumstance,  the  bad  influence  of 


Pikes  by  land  and  profane  tars  by  sea,  and  governmental 
neglect,  a  logical  result  of  slavery.* 

Mr.  H.  had  had  great  success  in  converting  the  brown 
dust  of  a  dry  swamp  without  the  fort  into  a  garden  of  suc- 
culent vegetables.  As  we  were  inspecting  the  cabbages  and 
onions  next  morning,  we  heard  a  resonance  of  hoofs  over 
the  trap  pavement.  A  noise  of  galloping  sounded  among 
the  oaks.  Presently  a  wild  dash  of  Indian  cavaliers  burst 
into  sight.  Their  equipm.ent  might  not  have  borne  inspection: 
few  things  will,  here  below,  except  such  as  rose-leaves  and 
the  cheeks  of  a  high-bred  child.  Prejudice  might  have  called 
their  steeds  scrubby  mustangs;  prejudice  might  have  used 
the  word  tag-rag  as  descriptive  of  the  fly-away  effect  of  a 
troop  all  a-flutter  with  ribbons,  fur-tails,  deerskin  fringes, 
trailing  lariats,  and  whirling  whip-thongs.  It  was  a  very 
irregular  and  somewhat  ragamuffin  brigade.  But  the  best 
hussars  of  the  Christendom  that  sustains  itself  by  means 
of  hussars  are  tawdry  and  clumsy  to  a  critical  eye,  and 

*It  is  only  fair  to  the  memory  of  this  famous  siwash  character  to 
say  that  other  contemporaries  give  him  much  better  "teapots"  than 
does  Winthrop.  Thus  Elwood  Evans  (History  of  the  Pacific  Northwest) 
says:  "Cheetsamahoin,  who  is  usually  styled  the  Duke  of  York,  ap- 
pears to  have  been  hereditary  chief  of  the  Clallams.  He  was  an  able, 
faithful  ruler,  and  highly  esteemed  by  the  whites.  As  early  as  1854 
he  was  officially  appointed  head  chief  of  his  tribe  by  Governor  Stevens 
through  the  agent,  Michael  T.  Simmons.  He  held  this  office  and  per- 
formed its  duties  with  vigor  and  fidelity  until,  in  1870,  he  was  found  to 
be  growing  too  old,  and  by  Agent  Eells  was  at  that  time  constituted 
honorary  chief.  He  was  a  good,  faithful  man,  and  doubtless  saved  many 
lives  by  his  honest  adherence  to  our  government.  He  died  a  few  years 
ago  at  a  great  age,  and  was  followed  to  his  grave  by  a  great  concourse 
of  people  of  both  the  white  and  Indian  races." 

James  G.  Swan  tells  of  the  Duke's  visit  to  him  in  San  Francisco: 
"This  chief,  whose  name  was  Chetzamokha,  and  who  is  known  by 
the  whites  as  the  Duke  of  York,  was  very  urgent  to  have  me  visit  his 
people.  Subsequently,  on  his  return  home  he  sent  me  a  present  of  a 
beautiful  canoe,"  etc. — Swan:  The  NorthwestCoast,  17. 

Costello  tells  of  seeing  the  Duke  in  1869,  and  speaks  of  him  and  his 
tribesmen  as  "the  noble  old  Indian  with  a  large  retinue  of  followers." — 
Costello:  The  Sitvash,  100. 

Winthrop,  in  his  journal  on  August  22,  gives  a  third  form  of  the  Duke's 
Indian  name, —  "Chitsmash."  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  any  evi- 
dence of  truth  in  the  rumors  which  Winthrop  heard,  charging  the  Duke 
and  his  brother,  "King  George,"  with  the  murder  of  whites. 


certainly  not  so  picturesque  as  these  Klickatats,  stampeding 
toward  us  from  under  the  gray  mossy  oaks. 

They  came,  deployed  in  the  open  woods,  now  hidden 
in  a  hollow,  now  rising  a  crest,  all  at  full  gallop,  loud  over 
the  baked  soil, —  a  fantastic  cavalcade.  They  swept  about 
the  angle  of  the  fort,  and  we,  following,  found  them  grouped 
near  the  open  postern,  waiting  for  permission  to  enter. 
Some  were  dismounted;  some  were  dashing  up  and  down 
on  their  shaggy  nags, —  a  band  of  picturesque  marauders 
on  a  peaceful  foray. 

Owhhigh  and  his  aides-de-camp  stood  a  little  apart, 
Spokan  Adonis  among  them.  At  a  sign  from  Mr.  H., 
they  followed  us  within  the  fort,  and  entered  the  factor's 
cottage.  Much  ceremony  is  observed  by  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  with  the  Indians.  Discipline  must  be  preserved. 
Dignity  tells.  Indians,  having  it,  appreciate  it.  Owhhigh 
alone  was  given  a  seat  opposite  us.  His  counsellors  stood 
around  him,  while  three  or  four  less  potent  members  of  his 
suite  peered  gravely  over  their  shoulders.  The  palaver 

Owhhigh's  braves  were  gorgeous  with  frippery,  and 
each  wore  a  beaded  order.  The  Murats  of  the  world  make 
splendid  fighting-cocks  of  themselves  with  martial  feathers; 
the  Napoleons  wear  gray  surtouts.  Owhhigh  was  in  stern 
simplicity  of  Indian  garb.  On  ordinary  occasions  of  council 
with  whites,  he  would  courteously  or  ambitiously  have 
adopted  their  costume;  now,  as  he  was  master  of  the  situation 
and  grantee  of  favors,  he  appeared  in  his  own  proper  style. 
He  wore  a  handsome  buckskin  shirt,  heavily  epauletted  and 
trimmed  along  the  seams  with  fringe,  and  leggins  and 
moccasins  of  the  same.  For  want  of  Tyrian  dye,  these 
robes  were  regalized  by  a  daubing  of  red  clay.  A  circlet 
of  otter  fur  served  him  for  coronet.  He  was  a  man  of  bulk 
and  stature,  a  chieftainly  personage,  a  fine  old  Roman, 
cast  in  bronze,  and  modernized  with  a  fresh  glazing  of  ver- 
milion over  his  antiquated  duskiness  of  hue.    And  certainly 



no  Roman  senator,  with  adjuncts  of  whity-brown  toga, 
curule  chair,  and  patrician  ancestry,  seated  to  wait  his 
doom  from  the  Gauls,  ever  had  an  air  of  more  impassive 
dignity  than  this  head  horse-thief  of  the  Klickatats. 

In  an  interview  with  a  royal  personage,  his  own  language 
should  be  used.  But  we,  children  of  an  embryo  civilization, 
are  trained  in  the  inutilities  of  tongues  dead  as  Julius  Csesar, 
never  in  the  living  idioms  of  our  native  princes.  I  was 
not,  therefore,  voluble  in  Klickatat  and  Yakimah.  Chinook 
jargon,  however,  the  French  of  Northwestern  diplomatic 

OW-HI:  A  Chief  of  the  Yakimas. 

life,  I  had  mastered.  Owhhigh  called  upon  one  of  his  "young 
men"  to  interpret  his  speeches  into  Chinook.  The  inter- 
preter stepped  forward,  and  stood  expectant, —  a  youth 
fraternally  like  my  Spokan,  but  with  a  sprinkle  more  of 
intelligence,  and  a  sparkle  less  of  beauty. 

My  suit,  already  known,  was  now  formally  stated  to 
the  chief.  I  wanted  to  buy  three  quadrupeds,  and  hire 
one  biped  guide  for  a  trip  across  the  Cascade  Mountains, 
and  on  to  the  Dalles  of  the  Columbia.    The  distance  was 


about  two  hundred  miles,  and  I  had  seven  days  to  effect  it. 
Could  it  be  done? 

"Yes,"  replied  Owhhigh;  and  then  —  his  bronze  face 
remaining  perfectly  calm  and  Rhadamanthine  —  he  began, 
with  most  expressive  pantomime,  an  oration,  describing 
my  route  across  the  mountains.  His  talk  went  on  in  sway- 
ing monotone,  rising  and  falling  with  the  subject,  while 
with  vigorous  gesture  he  pictured  the  changeful  journey. 
The  interpreter  saw  that  I  comprehended,  and  did  not 
interfere.  Occasionally,  when  I  was  posed,  I  turned  to 
him,  and  he  aided  me  with  some  Chinook  word,  or  a  sput- 
tered phrase  of  concentrated  meaning.  Meanwhile  the  circle 
of  counsellors  murmured  approval,  and  grunted  coincidence 
of  opinion. 

My  way  was  to  lead,  so  said  the  emphatic  recital  of 
Owhhigh,  first  through  an  open  forest,  sprinkled  with  lakes, 
and  opening  into  great  prairies.  By  and  by  the  denser 
forest  of  firs  would  meet  me,  and  giant  columnar  stems, 
parting,  leave  a  narrow  vista,  where  I  could  penetrate  into 
the  gloom.  The  dash  of  a  rapid,  shallow,  white  river,  the 
Puyallop,  where  was  a  salmon-fishery,  would  cross  my  trail. 
Then  I  must  climb  through  mightier  woods  and  thicker 
thickets,  where  great  bulks  of  fallen  trees  lay,  and  barri- 
caded the  path ;  must  follow  up  a  turbulent  river,  the 
S'Kamish,  crossing  it  often,  at  fords  where  my  horses  could 
hardly  bear  up  against  the  current.  Ever  and  anon,  like  a 
glimpse  of  blue  through  a  storm,  this  rough  way  would  be 
enlivened  by  a  prairie,  with  beds  of  fern  for  my  repose,  and 
long  grass  for  my  tiring  beasts, —  grass  long  as  macaroni,  so 
he  measured  it  with  outstretched  hands.  Now  the  difficul- 
ties were  to  come.  He  depicted  the  craggy  side  of  a  great 
mountain, —  horses  scrambling  up  stoutly,  riders  grasping 
the  mane  and  balancing  carefully  lest  a  misstep  should  send 
horse  and  man  over  a  precipice.  The  summit  gained,  here 
again  were  luxurious  tarrying-places,  oases  of  prairie,  and 
perhaps,  in  some  sheltered  nook,  a  bank  of  last  winter's  snow. 


Here  there  must  be  a  long  nooning,  that  the  horses,  tied  up 
the  night  before  in  the  forest;  and  browsing  wearily  on  bitter 
twigs,  might  recruit.  Then  came  the  steep  descent,  and  so, 
pressing  on,  I  should  arrive  for  my  third  night's  camp 
at  a  prairie,  low  down  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the  mountains, 
where  a  mighty  hunter,  the  late  Sowee,  once  dwelt.  Up 
before  dawn  next  morning, — continued  Owhhigh's  vivid  tale, 
vivid  in  gesture,  and  droning  ever  in  delivery, —  up  at  the 
peep  of  day,  for  this  was  a  long  march  and  a  harsh  one, 
and  striking  soon  a  clear  river  flowing  east,  the  Nachchese, 
I  was  to  follow  it.  The  river  grew,  and  went  tearing  down 
a  terrible  gorge;  through  this  my  path  led,  sometimes  in 
the  bed  of  the  stream,  sometimes,  when  precipices  drew 
too  close  and  the  gulf  too  profound,  I  must  climb,  and  trace 
a  perilous  course  along  the  brink  far  above,  where  I  might 
bend  over  and  see  the  water  roaring  a  thousand  feet  below. 
At  last  the  valley  would  broaden,  and  groves  of  pine  appear. 
Then  my  horses,  if  not  too  way-worn,  could  gallop  over 
the  immense  swells  of  a  rolling  prairie-land.  Here  I  would 
encounter  some  of  the  people  of  Owhhigh.  A  sharp  turn 
to  the  right  would  lead  me  across  a  mass  of  wild,  bare  hills, 
into  the  valley  of  another  stream,  the  Atinam,  where  was 
a  mission  and  men  in  long  robes  who  prayed  at  a  shrine. 
By  this  time  my  horses  would  be  exhausted;  I  should  take 
fresh  ones,  if  possible,  from  the  priests'  band,  and  riding 
hard  across  a  varied  region  of  hill,  prairie,  and  bulky  moun- 
tains thick  with  pines,  and  then  long  levels  where  Skloo,  a 
brother-chieftain,  ranged,  I  would  arrive,  after  two  days 
from  the  mission,  at  a  rugged  space  of  hills,  and,  climbing 
there,  find  myself  overlooking  the  vast  valley  of  the  Colum- 
bia. Barracks  and  tents  in  sight.  Scamper  down  the  moun- 
tain. Fire  a  gun  at  river's  bank.  Indians  hear,  cross  in 
canoe,  ferry  me  and  swim  my  horses.  All  safely  done 
in  six  crowded  days.    So  said  Owhhigh. 

This  description  was  given  with  wonderful  vivacity  and 
verity.    Owhhigh  as  a  pantomimist  would  have  commanded 


brilliant  success  on  any  stage.  Would  that  there  were  more 
like  him  in  this  wordy  world. 

He  promised  also  a  guide,  his  son,  now  at  the  camp, 
and  as  to  my  horses,  I  might  choose  from  the  cavalcade. 
We  went  out  to  make  selection, —  all  the  Klickatats,  except 
Owhhigh,  Adonis,  and  the  interpreter,  following  in  bow- 
legged  silence.  These  three  were  vocal,  and  of  better  model 
than  their  fellows.  No  Indian  wished  to  sell  his  best  horse; 
each  his  second-best,  at  the  price  of  the  best.  Their  backs 
were  in  shocking  condition.  Pads  and  pack-saddles  had 
galled  them  so  that  it  was  painful  to  a  humane  being  to 
mount;  but  I  felt  that  any  one  of  them,  however  maltreated, 
would  better  in  my  service.  I  should  ride  him  hard,  but 
care  for  him  tenderly.  Indians  have  too  much  respect 
for  "pasaiooks,"  blanketeers,  Caucasians,  to  endeavor  to 
cajole  us.  They  suppose  that,  in  a  horse-trade,  we  know 
what  we  want.  No  jockeying  was  attempted;  there  were 
the  nags,  I  might  prove  them,  and  buy  or  not,  without 

The  hard  terrace  without  the  fort  served  us  for  race- 
course. We  galloped  the  wiry  nags  up  and  down,  while 
the  owners  waited  in  an  emotionless  group,  calm  as  gamblers. 
Should  any  one  sell  a  horse,  he  would  not  only  pocket  the 
price,  but  be  spurred  to  new  thefts  from  tribes  hostile  or 
friendly  to  fill  the  vacancy;  yet  all  were  too  proud  to  exhibit 
eagerness,  or  puff  their  property. 

At  last,  from  the  least  bad  I  chose  first  for  my  pack 
animal  a  strawberry-roan  cob,  a  "chunk  of  a  horse,"  a  quad- 
ruped with  the  legs  of  an  elephant,  the  head  of  a  hippopota- 
mus, and  a  peculiar  gait; — he  trod  most  emphatically,  as 
if  he  were  striving  to  go  through  the  world's  crust  at  every 
step.  This  habit  suggested  the  name  he  at  once  received. 
I  called  him  Antipodes,  in  honor  of  the  region  he  was  aiming 
at, —  a  name  of  ill  omen,  suggesting  a  spot  where  I  often 
wished  him  afterwards.  My  second  choice,  the  mount  for 
my  guide,  was  Antipodes  repeated,  with  slight  improve- 


ments  of  form  and  manner.  Gubbins  I  dubbed  him,  appro- 
priately, with  a  first  accolade, —  accolade  often  repeated, 
during  our  acquaintance,  with  less  mildness.  Hard  horses 
were  Antipodes  and  Gubbins, —  hard  trotters,  hard- 
mouthed,  hard-hided  brutes.  Each  was  delivered  to  me 
with  a  hair  rope  twisted  for  bridle  about  his  lower  lip, 
sawing  it  raw. 

And  now  the  most  important  decision  remained  to  be 
made.  It  was  nothing  to  me  that  a  misty  phantom,  my 
guide,  should  be  jolted  over  the  passes  of  Tacoma  on  a 
Gubbins  or  an  Antipodes,  but  my  own  seat,  should  it  be 
upon  Rosinante  or  Bucephalus,  upon  an  agile  caracoler 
or  a  lubberly  plodder?  Step  forward,  then,  cool  and  care- 
less Klickatat,  from  thy  lair  of  dirty  blanket,  with  that 
black  pony  of  thine.  The  black  was  satisfactory.  His 
ribs,  indeed,  were  far  too  visible,  and  there  were  concavities 
where  there  should  have  been  the  convex  fullness  of  well- 
conditioned  muscle,  but  he  had  a  plucky,  wiry  look,  and  his 
eye  showed  spirit  without  spite.  His  lope  was  as  elastic 
as  the  bounding  of  a  wind-sped  cloud  over  a  rough  mountain- 
side. His  other  paces  were  neat  and  vigorous.  I  bought 
him  at  more  dollars  than  either  of  his  comrades  of  clumsier 
shape  and  duller  hue.  Indians  do  not  love  then*  horses 
well  enough  to  name  them.  My  new  purchase  I  baptized 
Klale.  Klale  in  Chinook  jargon  is  Black, —  and  thus  do  man- 
kind, putting  commonplace  into  foreign  tongues  or  into  big 
words  of  their  own,  fancy  that  they  make  it  uncommonplace 
and  original. 

There  are  several  requisites  for  travel.  First,  a  world 
and  a  region  of  world  to  traverse;  second,  a  traveller;  third, 
means  of  conveyance,  legs  human  or  other,  barks,  carts, 
enchanted  carpets,  and  the  like;  fourth,  guidance  by  man 
personal,  or  man  impersonal  acting  by  roads,  guide-boards, 
maps,  and  itineraries;  fifth,  multifarious  wherewithals.  The 
first  two  requisites  seem  to  be  indispensable  in  the  human 
notion  of  travel,  and  existed  in  my  case.    The  third  I  had 


provided;  my  stud  was  complete.  A  guide  was  promised; 
after  an  interview  with  Owhhigh  I  could  give  credence  to 
his  unseen  son,  and  believe  that  the  fourth  requisite  of  my 
journey  was  also  ready.  I  must  now  arrange  my  miscellane- 
ous outfit.  For  this  purpose  the  resources  of  Fort  Nisqually 
were  infinite.  Mr.  H.  approached  the  dusty  warehouses; 
he  wielded  the  wand  of  an  enchanter,  and  forth  from  dim 
corners  came  a  pack-saddle  for  Antipodes,  a  pad-saddle  for 
Gubbins,  and  great  hide  packs  for  my  traps.  Forth  from 
the  shelves  of  the  shop  came  paraphernaha, —  tin  pot,  tin 
pan,  tin  cups,  and  the  needful  luxuries  of  tea  and  sugar. 
My  pork  and  hardtack  had  been  already  provided  at  Steila- 
coom,  and  Mr.  H.  added  to  them  what  I  deemed  half  a 
dozen  gnarled  lignum- vitae  roots.  Experimental  whittling 
proved  these  to  be  cured  ox-tongues,  a  precious  accession. 
My  list  was  complete. 

I  was  lodged  in  a  small  cabin  adjoining  the  factor's 
cottage.  All  my  sundries  had  been  piled  here  for  packing, 
and  I  was  standing,  somewhat  mazed,  in  the  centre  of  a 
group  of  tin  pots,  gnarled  tongues,  powder-horns,  papers 
of  tea,  blankets,  bread-bags,  bridles,  spurs,  and  toggery, 
when  in  walked  Owhhigh,  followed  by  several  of  his  suite. 

Owhhigh  seated  himself  on  the  floor,  with  an  air  of  con- 
descension, and  for  some  time  regarded  my  preparations 
in  grave  silence.  Mr.  H.  had  told  me  that  his  parade  of  an 
interpreter  during  the  council  was  only  to  make  an  im- 
pression. Some  men  regard  an  assumption  of  ignorance  as 
lofty.  Now,  however,  Owhhigh,  dropping  in  unceremo- 
niously, laid  aside  his  sham  dignity  with  a  purpose.  We 
had  before  agreed  upon  the  terms  of  payment  for  my  guide. 
The  ancient  horse-thief  sat  like  a  Pacha,  smoking  an  in- 
glorious dhudeen,  and  at  last,  glancing  at  certain  articles 
of  raiment  of  mine,  thus  familiarly,  in  Chinook,  broke 

Owhhigh.  "Halo  she  collocks  nika  tenas;  no  breeches 
hath  my  son"  (the  guide). 


I.  (In  an  Indianesque  tone  of  some  surprise,  but  great 
indifference).    "Ah  hagh!" 

Oivhhigh.    *Te  halo  shirt;  and  no  shirt." 

I.    (Assenting,  with  equal  indifference).    "Ah  hagh!" 

Owhhigh  smokes,  and  is  silent,  and  Spokan  Adonis 
fugues  in,  "Pe  wake  yaka  shoes;  and  no  shoes  hath  he." 

Another  aide-de-camp  takes  up  the  strain.  "Yahwah 
mitlite  shoes,  closche  copa  Owhhigh  tenas;  there  are  shoes 
(pointing  to  a  pair  of  mine)  good  for  the  son  of  Owhhigh." 

/.  "Stick  shoes  ocook, —  wake  closche  copa  siwash; 
hard  shoes  (not  moccasins)  those, —  not  good  for  Indian." 

Owhhigh.  "Hyas  tyee  mika, —  hin  mitlite  ikta, —  halo 
ikta  mitlite  copa  nika  tenas, — mika  tikky  hin  potlatch; 
great  chief  thou, —  with  thee  plenty  traps  abide, — no  traps 
hath  my  son, — thou  \v\\t  give  him  abundance." 

/.  "Pe  hyas  tyee  Owhhigh, —  conoway  ikta  mitlite-pe 
hin  yaka  potlatch  copa  liticum;  and  a  great  chief  is  Owhhigh, 
—  all  kinds  of  property  are  his,  and  many  presents  does  he 
make  to  his  people." 

Profound  silence  followed  these  mutual  hints.  Owhhigh 
smoked  in  thoughtful  whiffs,  and  the  pipe  went  round. 
The  choir  bore  their  failure  stoically.  They  had  done  their 
best  that  their  comrade  might  be  arrayed  at  my  expense, 
and  if  I  did  not  choose  to  throw  in  a  livery,  I  must  bear  the 
shame  and  the  unsavoriness  if  he  were  frowzy.  At  last, 
to  please  Owhhigh,  and  requite  him  for  the  entertainment 
of  his  oratory,  I  promised  that,  if  his  son  were  faithful,  I 
would  give  him  a  generous  premium,  possibly  the  very 
shirt  and  other  articles  they  had  admu'ed.  Whereupon, 
after  more  unwordy  whiffs  and  ineffectual  hints  that  they 
too  were  needy,  Owhhigh  and  his  braves  lounged  off,  the 
gloomy  bow-legged  ones,  who  had  not  spoken,  bringing  up 
the  rear.  I  soon  had  everything  in  order,  tongues,  tea,  and 
tin  properly  stowed,  and  was  ready  to  be  off. 

Experienced  campaigners  attempt  no  more  than  a  start 
and  a  league  or  two  the  first  day  of  a  long  march.     To 


burst  the  ties  that  bind  us  to  civilization  is  an  epoch  of  itself. 
The  first  camp  of  an  expedition  must  not  be  beyond  re- 
clamation of  forgotten  things.  Starts,  too,  will  often  be 
false  starts.  Raw  men  and  raw  horses  and  mules  will  con- 
dense into  a  muddle,  or  explode  into  a  centrifugal  stampede, 
a  "blazing  star,"  as  packers  name  it.  Then  the  pack-horse 
with  the  flour  bolts  and  makes  paste  of  his  burden,  up  to 
his  spine  in  a  neighboring  pool.  The  powder  mule  lies  down 
in  the  ashes  of  a  cooking  fire.  The  pork  mule,  in  greasy 
gallop,  trails  fatness  over  the  plain.  In  a  thorny  thicket, 
a  few  white  shreds  reveal  where  the  tent  mule  tore  through. 
Another  beast  flies  madly,  while  after  him  clink  all  the  can- 
nikins, battering  themselves  shapeless  upon  his  flanks. 
It  is  chaos,  and  demands  hours  perhaps  of  patience  to  make 
order  again. 

Such  experience  in  a  minor  degree  might  befall  even 
my  little  party  of  three  horses  and  two  men.  I  therefore, 
for  better  speed,  resolved  to  disentangle  myself  this  evening 
and  have  a  clear  field  to-morrow.  Recalcitrant  Antipodes, 
therefore,  suffered  compulsion,  and  was  packed  with  his 
complex  burdens.  Leaving  him  and  Gubbins  with  Owhhigh 
to  follow  and  be  disciplined,  Mr.  H.  and  I  galloped  on  under 
the  oaks,  over  the  trap-rock,  toward  the  Klickatat  camp. 
Klale,  with  ungalling  saddle,  and  a  merciful  rider  of  nine 
stone  weight,  loped  on  gayly. 

The  Klickatats  were  encamped  on  a  prairie  near  the 
house  of  a  settler,  five  miles  from  the  fort.  Just  without  the 
house  was  a  group  of  them  gambling.  Presently  Owhhigh 
followed  Mr.  H.  and  me  into  the  farmer's  kitchen,  bringing 
forward  for  introduction  his  son,  my  guide.  He  was  one 
of  the  gambling  group.  I  inspected  him  narrowly.  My 
speed,  my  success,  my  safety,  depended  upon  his  good 
faith.  Owhhigh  bore  no  very  high  character, —  why  should 
son  be  honester  than  father?  To  an  Indian  the  temptation 
to  play  foul  by  a  possessor  of  horses,  guns,  blankets,  and 
traps  was  enormous. 


My  future  comrade  was  a  tallish  stripling  of  twenty, 
dusky-hued  and  low-browed.  A  mat  of  long,  careless,  sheen- 
less  black  hair  fell  almost  to  his  shoulders.  Dull  black 
were  his  eyes,  not  veined  with  agate-like  play  of  color,  as 
are  the  eyes  of  the  sympathetic  and  impressionable.  His 
chief  physiognomical  characteristic  was  a  downward  look, 
like  the  brown  study  of  a  detected  pickpocket,  inquiring 
with  himself  whether  villany  pays;  his  chief  personal  and 
seemingly  permanent  characteristic  was  squalor.  Squalid 
was  his  hickory  shirt,  squalid  his  buckskin  leggins,  long 
widowed  of  their  fringe.  Yet  it  was  not  a  mean,  but  a  proud 
uncleanliness,  like  that  of  a  fakir,  or  a  voluntarily  unwashed 
hermit.  He  flaunted  his  dirtiness  in  the  face  of  civilization, 
claiming  respect  for  it,  as  merely  a  different  theory  of  the 
toilette.  I  cannot  say  that  this  new  actor  in  my  drama 
looked  trustworthy,  but  there  was  a  certain  rascally  charm 
in  his  rather  insolent  dignity,  and  an  exciting  mystery  in  his 
undecipherable  phiz.  I  saw  that  there  was  no  danger  of 
our  becoming  friends.  There  existed  an  antagonism  in 
our  natures  which  might  lead  to  defiance  and  hostility,  or 
possibly  terminate  in  mutual  respect. 

Loolowcan  was  his  name.  I  took  him  for  better  or  for 
worse,  without  questions. 

Owhhigh  fully  vouched  for  him, —  but  who  would  vouch 
for  the  voucher?  Who  could  satisfy  me  that  the  horse- 
thieving  morality  of  papa  might  not  result  in  scalp-thieving 
principles  in  the  youth?  At  least,  he  knew  the  way  unerringly. 
My  path  was  theirs,  of  constant  transit  from  inland  to  sea- 
side. As  to  his  conduct,  Owhhigh  gave  him  an  impressive 
harangue,  stretching  forth  his  arm  in  its  fringed  sleeve,  and 
gesturing  solemnly.  This  paternal  admonition  was,  for  my 
comprehension,  expressed  in  Chinook  jargon,  doubly  ludi- 
crous with  Owhhigh's  sham  stateliness  of  rhetoric.  His 
final  injunctions  to  young  hopeful  may  be  condensed  as 
follows: — 

"Great  chief  go  to  Dalles.    Want  to  go  fast.    Six  days. 

'The  trail  took  us  speedily  into  a  forest-temple.     Wherever  I  ro<le  into  the 
vista,  the  dark-purple  trunks  drew  together,  like  a  circuit 
of  palisades,  and  closed  after." 


Good  pay.  S'pose  want  fresh  horses  other  side  mountains, — 
you  get  'em.  Get  everything.  Look  sharp.  No  fear  bad 
Indian  at  Dalles;  great  chief  not  let  'em  beat  you.  Be  good 
boy!    Good  bye!" 

Owhhigh  presented  me,  as  a  parting  gift,  his  whip,  which 
I  had  admired,  a  neat  baton  with  a  long  hide  lash  and  loop 
of  otter  fur  for  the  wrist.  I  could  by  its  aid  modify,  without 
altering,  the  system  of  education  already  pursued  with  my 
horses.  Homeric  studies  had  taught  me  that  the  gifts  of 
heroes  should  be  reciprocal.  I  therefore,  for  lack  of  more 
significant  token,  prayed  Owhhigh  to  accept  a  piece  of  silver. 
We  shook  hands  elaborately  and  parted.  He  was  hanged 
or  shot  last  summer  in  the  late  Indian  wars  of  that  region.* 
I  regret  his  martyrdom,  and  hope  that  in  his  present  sphere 
his  skill  as  a  horse-thief  is  better  directed. 

I  had  also  adieux  to  offer  to  Mr.  H.,  and  thanks  for  his 
kind  energy  in  forwarding  me.  From  him,  as  from  all  the 
gentlemen  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  in  the  Northwest, 
I  had  received  the  most  genuine  hospitality,  hearty  enter- 
tainment, legendary  and  culinary. 

And  now  for  my  long  ride  across  the  country!  Here, 
Loolowcan,  is  Gubbins,  thy  steed, —  drive  thou  Antipodes, 
clumsiest  of  cobs.  I  have  mounted  Klale, — let  us  gallop 

Eastward  I  galloped  with  what  eager  joy!  I  flung  my- 
self again  alone  upon  the  torrent  of  adventure,  with  a  lurking 
hope  that  I  might  prove  new  sensations  of  danger,  new 
tests  of  manhood  in  its  confident  youth.  I  was  going  home- 
ward across  the  breadth  of  the  land,  and  with  the  excite- 
ment of  this  large  thought  there  came  a  slight  reactionary 
sinking  of  heart,  and  a  dread  lest  I  had  exhausted  onward 
life,  and  now,  turning  back  from  its  foremost  verge,  should 

*In  September,  1856,  Owhi,  then  a  prisoner,  and  Lieut.  Morgan, 
who  were  riding  together,  became  separated  from  Col.  Wright's  com- 
mand, and  the  treacherous  old  warrior  made  a  dash  for  liberty.  A  shot 
from  Morgan's  revolver  brought  him  to  the  ground,  and  a  bullet  from  a 
soldier's  rifle  ended  his  life. 


find  myself  dwindling  into  dull  conservatism,  and  want  of 
prophetic  faith.  I  feared  that  I  was  retreating  from  the 
future  into  the  past.  Yet  if  one  but  knew  it,  his  retreats 
are  often  his  wisest  and  bravest  advances. 

I  had,  however,  little  time  for  meditation,  morbid  or 
healthy.  Something  always  happens,  in  the  go  and  the  gallop 
of  travel,  demanding  quick,  instinctive  action.  Antipodes 
was  in  this  case  the  agent  to  make  me  know  my  place.  Anti- 
podes, pointing  his  nose  eastward  toward  his  native  valleys, 
had  pounded  along  the  trail  for  a  couple  of  miles  over  the 
hillocks  of  a  stony  prairie,  and  on  his  back  rattled  my  packs, 
for  solace  or  annoyance,  according  to  his  own  views.  At 
a  fork  of  the  trail,  Loolowcan  urged  Gubbins  to  the  front, 
to  indicate  the  route.  Right-about  went  Antipodes.  Back 
toward  Squally  bolted  that  stiff-legged  steed, —  stiff-legged 
no  more,  but  far  too  limber, —  and  louder  on  his  back  rattled 
my  pots  and  pans,  a  merry  sound,  could  I  have  listened 
with  no  thought  of  the  pottage  and  pancakes  that  depended 
upon  the  safety  of  my  tin-ware.  Still  I  could  be  amused 
at  his  grotesque  gallop,  for  he  had  not  discomfited  me,  and 
I  could  chuckle  at  the  thought  of  another  sound,  when  he 
was  overtaken,  and  when  upon  a  strawberry-roan  surface 
fell  the  whip,  the  Owhhigh  gift,  now  swinging  at  my  wrist 
by  its  loop  of  otter-skin,  for  greater  momentum  of  stroke. 
Clattering  over  the  paved  prairie  we  hied,  the  defaulter  a 
little  in  advance  and  artfully  dodging, —  Loolowcan  and  I 
close  upon  him.  Still  more  artfully  at  last  he  made  show 
of  finding  the  trail,  and  went  pounding  along,  as  if  no  trait- 
orous stampede  had  happened.  A  total  failure  was  this 
crafty  sham,  this  too  late  repentance  and  acknowledgment 
of  defeat.  Vengeance  will  not  thus  be  baffled.  Men  discover 
with  bitterness  that  nature  continues  to  use  the  scourge 
long  after  they  have  reformed,  until  relapse  becomes  im- 
possible by  the  habit  of  virtue.  So  Antipodes  experienced. 
Pendulum  whips  do  not  swing  for  nothing,  and  he  never 



again  attempted  absolute  revolt,  but  grumblingly  acknowl- 
edged his  duty  to  his  master. 

This  was  an  evening  of  August,  in  a  climate  where  sum- 
mer is  never  scorching  nor  blasting.  We  breathe  air  as  a 
matter  of  course,  unobservant  usually  of  how  fair  a  draught 
it  is.  But  to-night  the  chalice  of  nature  was  brimming  with 
a  golden  haze,  which  touched  the  lips  with  luxurious  winy 

So  inhaling  delicate  gray-gold  puffs  of  indolent  summer- 
evening  air,  and  much  tranquillized  by  such  beverage, 
mild  yet  rich,  I  rode  on,  now  under  the  low  oaks,  now  over 
a  ripe  prairie,  and  now  beside  a  lake  fresh,  pure,  and 
feminine.  And  whenever  a  vista  opened  eastward,  Ta- 
coma  appeared  above  the  low-lying  mist  of  the  distance. 
"Pohkely,  spose  mika  tikky,  nesika  mitlite  copa  Comcomli 
house;  to-night,  if  you  please,  we  stop  at  Comcomli's 
house,"  said  Loolowcan  the  taciturn. 

Night  was  at  hand,  and  where  was  the  house?  It  is 
not  wise  to  put  off  choice  of  camping-ground  till  dark; 
foresight  is  as  needful  to  a  campaigner  as  to  any  other 
mortal.  But  presently,  in  a  pretty  little  prairie,  we  reached 
the  spot  where  a  certain  Montgomery,  wedded  to  a  squaw, 
had  squatted,  and  he  should  be  our  host.  His  name,  too 
articulate  for  Indian  lips,  they  had  softened  to  Comcomli. 
A  similar  corruption  befell  the  name  of  the  Scotticized  chief 
of  the  Chinooks,  whom  Astor's  people  found  at  Astoria, 
and  whom  Mr.  Irving  has  given  to  history.* 

Mr.  Comcomli  was  absent,  but  his  comely  "mild-eyed, 
melancholy"  squaw  received  us  hospitably.  Her  Squally- 
amish  proportions  were  oddly  involved  in  limp  robes  of 
calico,  such  as  her  sisters  from  Pike  County  wear.  She  gave 
us  a  supper  of  fried  pork,  bread,  and  tea.  We  encamped 
upon  her  floor,  and  were  somewhat  trodden  under  foot  by 
little  half-breed  Comcomlis,  patrolling  about  during  the 

*lTving:  Astoria,  Chapter  VIII. 


Loolowcan  here  began  to  show  the  white  feather.  His 
heart  sank  when  he  contemplated  the  long  leagues  of  the 
trail.  He  wanted  to  return.  He  was  solitary, —  homesick 
for  the  congenial  society  of  other  youths  with  matted  hair, 
dusky  skins,  paint-daubed  cheeks,  low  brows,  and  dis- 
tinguished frowziness  of  apparel.  He  wanted  to  squat 
by  camp-fires,  and  mutter  guttural  gibberish  to  such  as 
these.  The  old,  undying  feud  of  blackguard  against  gentle- 
man seemed  in  danger  of  pronouncing  itself.  Besides,  he 
feared  hostile  siwashes  at  the  Dalles  of  the  Columbia.  In 
his  superstitious  soul  of  a  savage  he  dreaded,  or  pretended 
to  dread,  some  terrible  magical  influence  in  the  gloomy 
forests  of  the  mountains.  Of  evil  omen  to  me,  and  worse 
than  any  demon  spell  in  the  craggy  dells  of  the  Cascades, 
was  this  vacillation  of  my  guide.  However,  I  argued  some- 
what, and  somewhat  wheedled  and  bullied  the  doubter. 
Loolowcan  was  harder  to  keep  in  line  than  Antipodes. 
One  may  tame  Bucephalus,  but  several  new  elements  of 
character  are  to  be  considered  when  the  attempt  is  made 
to  manage  Pagan  savages. 

At  last  my  guide  seemed  to  waver  over  to  the  side  of 
good  faith,  with  a  dishonest  air  and  a  pretense  of  wishing 
to  oblige.  Shaken  confidence  hardly  returns,  and  from  hour 
to  hour,  as  the  little  Comcomlis  pranced  over  my  person, 
and  trampled  my  upturned  nose  a  temporary  aquiline,  I 
awoke,  and  studied  the  dark  spot  where  my  dusky  comrade 
lay.  Each  time  I  satisfied  myself  that  he  had  not  flitted. 
Nor  did  he.  When  morning  came,  his  heart  grew  bigger. 
Difficulties  portentous  in  the  ghostly  obscure  of  night  van- 
ished with  cock-crowing.  He  contemplated  his  fair  propor- 
tions, and  felt  that  new  clothes  would  become  them.  He 
rose,  stalked  about,  and  longed  for  the  dignified  drapery 
of  a  new  blanket.  How  the  other  low-browed  and  squalid, 
from  whom  he  had  been  selected  for  his  knowledge  as  a 
linguist  and  his  talents  as  a  guide, — how  they  would  scoff, 
and  call  him  Kallapooya,  meanest  of  Indians,  if  he  sneaked 



back  to  camp  bootless!  He  turned  to  me,  and  saw  me  a 
civilized  man,  in  garb  and  guise  to  be  envied.  So  for  a 
time  treachery  was  argued  out  of  the  heart  of  Loolowcan 
the  frowzy. 

Tulalip  Mat-maker,  Camano  Island. 



To  have  started  with  dawn  is  a  proud  and  exhilarating 
recollection  all  the  day  long.  The  most  godlike  imperson- 
ality men  know  is  the  sun.  To  him  the  body  should  pay  its 
matinal  devotions,  its  ardent,  worshipful  greetings,  when 
he  comes,  the  joy  of  the  world;  then  is  the  soul  elated  to 
loftier  energies,  and  nerved  to  sustain  its  own  visions  of 
glories  transcending  the  spheres  where  the  sun  reigns  sub- 
lime. Tame  and  inarticulate  is  the  harmony  of  a  day  that 
has  not  known  the  delicious  preludes  of  dawn.  For  the  sun, 
the  godlike,  does  not  come  hastily  blundering  in  upon  the 
scene.  Nor  does  he  bounce  forth  upon  the  arena  of  his  action, 
like  a  circus  clown.  Much  beautiful  labor  of  love  is  done  by 
earth  and  sky,  preparing  a  pageant  where  their  Lord  shall 
enter.  Slowly,  like  the  growth  of  any  feeling  grand,  deep, 
masterful,  and  abiding,  nature's  power  of  comprehending 
the  coming  blessing  develops.  First,  up  in  the  colorless 
ranges  of  night  there  is  a  feeling  of  quiver  and  life,  broader 
than  the  narrow  twinkle  of  stars, —  a  tender  lucency,  not 
light,  but  rather  a  sense  of  the  departing  of  darkness.  Then 
a  gray  glimmer,  like  the  sheen  of  filed  silver,  trembles  up- 
ward from  the  black  horizon.  Gray  deepens  to  violet. 
Clouds  flush  and  blaze.  The  sky  grows  azure.  The  pageant 
thickens.  Beams  dart  up.  The  world  shines  golden.  The 
sun  comes  forth  to  cheer,  to  bless,  to  vivify. 

For  other  reasons  more  obviously  practical,  needs  must 
that  campaigners  stir  with  dawn,  and  start  with  sunrise. 
No  daylight  is  long  enough  for  its  possible  work,  as  no  life 

View  from  the  State  Road  designed  to  reach  the  northeast  entrance  of 
Rainier  National  Park. 


is  long  enough  for  its  possible  development  in  wisdom  and 
love.  In  the  beautiful,  fresh  hours  of  early  day  vigorous 
influences  are  about.  The  sun  is  doing  his  uphill  work 
easily,  climbing  without  a  thought  of  toil  to  the  breathing- 
spot  of  high  noon.  Every  flower  of  the  world  is  boldly 
open;  there  is  no  languid  droop  in  any  stem.  Blades  of 
grass  have  tossed  lightly  off  each  its  burden  of  a  dew-drop, 
and  now  stand  upright  and  alert.  Man  rises  from  recum- 
bency taller  by  fractions  of  an  inch  than  when  he  sank  to 
repose,  with  a  brain  leagues  higher  up  in  the  regions  of 
ability, —  leagues  above  doubt  and  depression;  and  a  man 
on  a  march,  with  long  wildness  of  mountain  and  plain  to 
overpass,  is  urged  by  necessity  to  convert  power  into  achieve- 

Up,  then,  at  earliest  of  light,  I  sprang  from  the  ground. 
I  roused  Loolowcan,  and  found  him  in  healthier  and  braver 
mood,  and  ready  to  lead  on.  While,  after  one  sympathetic 
gaze  at  Aurora,  I  made  up  my  packs,  my  Klickatat  unteth- 
ered  the  horses  from  spots  where  all  night  they  had  champed 
the  succulent  grasses.  This  control  of  tethering  was  nec- 
essary on  separating  my  steeds  from  their  late  comrades. 
Indian  nags,  like  Indian  youths,  are  gregarious,  and  had 
my  ponies  escaped,  I  should  probably  have  seen  them 
never  more.  Even  my  graceful  Adonis,  the  Spokan,  would 
not  have  hesitated  to  seclude  a  stray  Antipodes,  gallop- 
ing back  to  the  herd,  and  innocently  to  offer  me  another 
and  a  sorrier,  to   be   bought  with  fresh  moneys. 

The  trail  took  us  speedily  into  a  forest- temple.  Long 
years  of  labor  by  artists  the  most  unconscious  of  their  skill 
had  been  given  to  modelling  these  columnar  firs.*    Unlike 

*The  typical  tree  of  the  North  Pacific  Slope  is  the  "Douglas  fir," 
sometimes  called  "Douglas  spruce,"  "Oregon  pine,"  etc.,  but,  curiously 
enough,  properly  neither  fir,  spruce,  nor  pine,  but,  according  to  the  bot- 
anists, false  hemlock,  Pseudotsuga  taxifolia.  This  tree  alone  has  done 
more  for  the  Northwest  than  any  other  source  of  wealth,  furnishing, 
as  Sudworth  says,  "the  finest  and  largest  saw  timber  of  any  native  trees, 
if  not  of  any  trees  in  the  world." 

"Douglas  fir  recalls  by  its  name  one  of  the  heroes  of  science,  David 

68         THE  CANOE  AND  THE  SADDLE. 

the  pillars  of  human  architecture,  chipped  and  chiselled  in 
bustling,  dusty  quarries,  and  hoisted  to  their  site  by  sweat 
of  brow  and  creak  of  pulley,  these  rose  to  fairest  proportion 
by  the  life  that  was  in  them,  and  blossomed  into  foliated 
capitals  three  hundred  feet  overhead. 

Riding  steadily  on,  I  found  no  thinning  of  this  mighty 
array,  no  change  in  the  monotony  of  this  monstrous  vege- 
tation. These  giants  with  their  rough  plate-armor  were 
masters  here;  one  of  human  stature  was  unmeaning  and  in- 
capable. With  an  axe,  a  man  of  muscle  might  succeed  in 
smiting  off  a  flake  or  a  chip;  but  his  slight  fibres  seemed 
naught  to  battle,  with  any  chance  of  victory,  with  the  time- 
hardened  sinews  of  these  Goliaths.  It  grew  somewhat 
dreary  to  follow  down  the  vistas  of  this  ungentle  woodland, 
passing  forever  between  rows  of  rough-hewn  pillars,  and 
never  penetrating  to  any  shrine  where  sunshine  entered 
and  dwelt,  and  garlands  grew  for  the  gods  of  the  forest. 
Wherever  I  rode  into  the  sombre  vista,  and  turned  by  chance 
to  trace  the  trail  behind  me,  the  dark-purple  trunks  drew 
together,  like  a  circuit  of  palisades,  and  closed  after,  crowd- 
ing me  forward  down  the  narrow  inevitable  way,  as  ugly 
sins,  co-operating  only  to  evolve  an  uglier  remorse,  forbid 
the  soul  to  turn  back  to  purity,  and  crowd  it,  shrinking, 
on  into  blacker  falseness  to  itself. 

Douglas,  a  Scotch  naturalist  who  explored  these  forests  nearly  ninety 
years  ago,  and  discovered  not  only  this  particular  giant  of  the  woods, 
but  also  the  great  sugar  pine  and  many  other  fine  trees  and  plants. 
As  a  pioneer  botanist,  searching  the  forest,  Douglas  presented  a  sur- 
prising spectacle  to  the  Indians,  'The  Man  of  Grass' they  called  him.*** 
The  splendid  conifer  which  men  have  called  after  him  is  one  of  the  kings 
of  all  treeland.  The  most  abundant  species  of  the  Northwest,  it  is  also, 
commercially,  the  most  important.  Sometimes  reaching  a  height  of 
more  than  250  feet,  it  grows  in  remarkably  close  stands,  and  covers 
vast  areas  with  valuable  timber  that  will  keep  the  multiplying  mills  of 
Oregon  and  Washington  sawing  for  generations.  In  the  dense  shade  of 
the  forests,  it  raises  a  straight  and  stalwart  trunk,  clear  of  limb  for  a 
hundred  feet  or  more.  On  the  older  trees,  its  deeply  furrowed  bark  is 
often  a  foot  thick.  Trees  of  eight  feet  diameter  are  at  least  three  hun- 
dred years  old,  and  rare  ones,  much  larger,  have  been  cut  showing  an 
age  of  more  than  five  centuries." — From  "The  Forests,"  by  H.  D. 
Langille,  in  Williams:  The  Guardians  of  the  Columbia. 


Before  my  courage  was  quelled  by  a  superstitious  dread 
that  from  this  austere  wood  was  no  escape,  I  came  upon  a 
river,  cleaving  the  darkness  with  a  broad  belt  of  sunshine. 
A  river  signifies  much  on  the  earth.  It  signifies  something  to 
mix  with  proper  drinkables;  it  signifies  navigation,  in  birch- 
canoe,  seventy-four,  floating  palace,  dug-out,  or  lumber  ark; 
it  signifies  motion,  less  transitory  than  the  tremble  of  leaves, 
and  shadows.  This  particular  river,  the  Puyallop,  had 
another  distinct  significance  to  me, —  it  was  certain  to  supply 

Indian  Canoo  on  the  Puyallup  River. 

provisions,  fish,  salmon.  As  I  expected,  some  fishing  In- 
dians were  here  to  sell  me  their  silver  beauty,  a  noble  fellow 
who  this  morning  had  tasted  the  pickle  of  Whulge,  and  had 
the  cosmopolitan  look  of  a  fish  but  now  from  ocean  palace 
and  grot,  where  he  was  a  welcome  guest  and  a  regretted 
absentee.  It  was  truly  to  be  deplored  that  he  could  never 
reappear  in  those  Neptunian  realms  with  tales  of  wild  adven- 
ture; yet  if  to  this  most  brilliant  of  fish  his  hour  of  destiny 
had  come,  how  much  better  than  feeding  foul  Indians  it 
was  to  belong  to  me,  who  would  treat  his  proportions  with 
respect,  feel  the  exquisiteness  of  his  coloring,  grill  him  deli- 
cately, and  eat  him  daintily! 


Potatoes,  also,  I  bought  of  the  Indians,  and  bagged 
them  till  my  bags  were  knobby  withal, —  potatoes  with  skins 
of  smooth  and  refined  texture,  like  the  cheeks  of  a  brunette, 
and  like  them  showing  fair  rosiness  through  the  transparent 
brown.  For  these  peaceful  products  I  paid  in  munitions 
of  war.  Four  charges  of  powder  and  shot  were  deemed  by 
the  Nestor  of  the  siwash  family  a  liberal,  even  a  lavishly 
bounteous  price,  for  twoscore  of  tubers  and  a  fifteen-pound 
salmon;  and  in  two  corners  of  the  flap  of  his  sole  inner  and 
outer  garment  that  tranquil  sage  tied  up  his  hazardous 
property.  Such  barter  dignifies  marketing.  Usually  what 
a  man  pays  for  his  dinner  does  not  interest  the  race;  but 
here  I  was  giving  destruction  for  provender,  death  for  life. 
Perhaps  Nestor  shot  the  next  traveller  with  my  ammunition, 
and  the  juices  of  that  salmon  were  really  my  brother 
Yankee's  blood.  Avaunt,  horrid  thought!  and  may  it  be 
that  the  powder  and  the  shot  went  for  killing  porcupines, 
or  that  their  treasurer  stumbled  in  the  stream,  and  drowned 
his  deadly  stores! 

Well  satisfied  with  my  new  possessions,  I  said  adieu 
to  the  monotonous  mumblers  of  Puyallop, —  a  singularly 
fishy  old  gentleman,  his  wife  an  oleaginous  hag,  an  emotion- 
less youth  of  the  Loolowcan  type,  and  a  flat-faced  young 
damsel  with  a  circle  of  vermilion  on  each  broad  cheek  and 
a  red  blanket  for  all  raiment.  I  waded  the  milky  stream, 
scuffled  across  its  pebbly  bed,  and  plunged  again  among 
the  phalanxes  of  firs.  These  opened  a  narrow  trail,  wide 
enough  to  wind  rapidly  along,  and  my  little  cortege  dashed 
on  deeper  into  the  wilderness.  I  had  not  yet  entirely 
escaped  from  civilization,  so  much  as  Yankee  pioneers 
carry  with  them,  namely,  blue  blankets  and  the  smell  of 
fried  pork.  In  a  prairie  about  noon  to-day  I  saw  a  smoke, 
near  that  smoke  a  tent,  and  at  that  smoke  two  men  in  ex- 
soldier  garb.  Frying  pork  were  these  two  braves,  as  at 
most  habitations,  up  and  down  and  athwart  this  conti- 
nent, cooking  braves  or  their  wives  are  doing  three  times 


a  day,  incensing  dawn,  noon,  and  sunset.  These  two  had 
taken  this  pretty  prairie  as  their  "claim,"  hoping  to 
become  the  vanguard  of  colonization.  They  became  its 
forlorn  hope.  The  point  of  civilization's  entering  wedge 
into  barbarism  is  easily  knocked  off.  These  squatters 
were  knocked  off,  as  some  of  the  earliest  victims  of  the 
Indian  war  three  summers  after  my  visit.  It  is  odd  how 
much  more  interest  I  take  in  these  two  settlers  since  I  heard 
that  they  were  scalped.  More  fair  prairies  strung  them- 
selves along  the  trail,  possibly  less  fair  in  seeming  to  me 
then,  could  I  have  known  that  murder  would  soon  dis- 
figure them;  that  savages,  and  perhaps  among  them  the 
low-browed  Loolowcan,  would  lurk  behind  the  purple  trunks 
of  these  colossal  firs,  watching  not  in  vain  for  the  safe 
moment  to  slay.  For  so  it  was,  and  the  war  in  that  terri- 
tory began  three  years  after,  by  massacres  in  these  outlying 

I  was  now  to  be  greeted  by  a  nearer  vision  of  an  old 
love.  A  great  bliss,  or  a  sublime  object,  or  a  giant  aspiration 
of  our  souls,  lifts  first  upon  our  horizon,  and  swelling  fills 
our  sphere,  and  stoops  forward  with  winsome  conde- 
scension. And  taking  our  clew,  we  approach  through  the 
labyrinths.  Glimpses  are  never  wanting  to  sustain  us 
lest  we  faint  and  fail  along  the  lacerating  ways.  Such  a 
glimpse  I  was  now  to  have  of  Tacoma.  I  had  long  been 
obstructedly  nearing  it,  first  in  the  leaky  Bucentaur,  pro- 
pelled over  strong-flowing  Whulge  by  Klalams,  drunken, 
crapulous,  unsteady,  timid, —  such  agents  progress  finds; 
next  by  alliance  of  Owhhigh,  the  horse-thief,  and  aid 
from  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company;  then  between  the 
files  of  veteran  evergreens  in  plate-armor,  tempered  purple 
by  the  fiery  sun,  and  across  prairies  where  might  have  hung 
an  ominous  mist  of  blood.  Now  suddenly,  as  Klale  the 
untiring  disentangled  us  from  the  black  forest,  and  galloped 
out  upon  a  little  prairie,  delighted  to  comb  his  fetlocks  in 
the  long  yellow  grass,  I  beheld  Tacoma  at  hand,  still  un- 



dwarfed  by  any  underlif t  of  lower  ridges,  and  only  its  snows 
above  the  pines.  Over  the  pines,  the  snow  peak  against 
the  sky  presented  the  quiet  fraternal  tricolor  of  nature,  who 
always,  where  there  is  default  of  uppermost  peaks  to  be 
white  with  clouds  fallen  in  the  form  of  snow,  brings  the 
clouds  themselves,  so  changefuUy 
fair  that  we  hardly  wish  them 
more  sublimely  permanent,  and 
heaps  them  above  the  green  against 
the  blue.  Here,  then,  against  the 
unapproachable  glory  of  an  Ore- 
gon summer  sky  stood  Tacoma, 
less  dreamy  than  when  I  floated 
over  its  shadow,  but  not  less  di- 
vine,—  no  divine  thing  dwindles 
as  one  with  sparks  of  divineness 
in  his  mind  approaches. 

Yet  I  could  not  dally  here  to 
watch  Tacoma  bloom  at  sunset 
against  a  violet  sky.  Alas  that 
life  with  an  object  cannot  linger 
among  its  own  sweet  episodes! 
My  camp  was  farther  on,  but  the 
revolutionary  member  of  the  party, 
Antipodes,  hinted  that  we  would 
do  wisely  to  set  up  our  tabernacle 
here.  His  view  of  such  a  hint  was 
to  bolt  off  where  grass  grew  high- 
est, and  standing  there  interpose  a 
mobile  battery  of  heels  between  his  flanks  and  their  casti- 
gators.  This  plan  failed;  a  horse  cannot  balance  on  his 
fore  legs  and  take  hasty  bites  of  long,  luxurious  fodder, 
while  he  brandishes  his  hind  legs  in  the  air.  Some  sweeter 
morsel  will  divert  his  mind  from  self-defense;  his  assailants 
will  get  within  his  guard.  Penance  follows,  and  Antipodes 
must  again  hammer  elephantine  along  the  trail. 

Carved    Wood    Tamanoiis   and 
Wand,  from  near  Bremerton. 


What  now?  What  is  this  strange  object  in  the  utterly 
lonely  woods, —  a  furry  object  hanging  on  a  bush  by  our 
faint  and  obstructed  trail?  A  cap  of  fox-skin,  fantastic 
with  tails.  And  what,  0  Loolowcan  the  mysterious,  means 
this  tailful  head-gear,  hung  carefully,  as  if  a  signal?  "It 
is,"  replied  Loolowcan,  depositing  it  upon  his  capless  mop  of 
hair,  "my  brother's  cap,  and  he  must  be  hereabouts;  he 
informs  me  of  his  neighborhood,  and  will  meet  us  presently." 
"Son  of  Owhhigh,  what  doth  thy  brother  skulking  along 
our  trail?"  "How  should  I  know,  my  chief?  Indian 
come,  Indian  go ;  he  somewhere,  he  nowhere.  Perhaps  my 
brother  go  to  mountains,  see  Tamanoiis, —  want  to  be  big 

Presently,  appearing  from  nowhere,  there  stood  in  the 
trail  a  little,  shabby,  capless  Indian,  armed  with  a  bow  and 
arrows, —  a  personage  not  at  all  like  the  pompous,  white- 
cravatted,  typical  big-medicine  man  of  civilization,  armed 
with  gold-headed  cane.  Where  this  M.  D.  had  been 
prowling,  or  from  what  lair  he  discovered  our  approach, 
or  by  what  dodging  he  evaded  us  along  the  circuits  of  the 
trail,  was  a  mystery  of  which  he  offered  no  explanation. 
The  presence  of  this  disciple  of  Tamanoiis,  this  tyro  magician, 
this  culler  of  simples,  this  amateur  spy,  or  whatever  else 
he  might  be,  was  unaccountable.      He  was  the  counter- 

*Among  the  tribes  of  the  Northwest,  Tamanoiis,  or  Tamahnawas, 
had  a  great  variety  of  meanings;  indeed,  it  was  a  name  for  almost  every- 
thing that  seemed  mysterious  or  magical  to  the  Indian.  It  was  the 
Great  Spirit,  Tyee  Saghalie,  or  the  Devil,  Tyee  Klale,  —  literally, 
Black  Magic,  or  Bad  Medicine.  Further,  it  was  the  particular  demon 
of  places  and  the  familiar  guardian  spirit  of  men  and  their  undertakings. 
Just  as  the  devout  Russian  sets  up  an  ikon  in  his  home  or  at  the  head  of 
a  village  street,  so  the  superstitious  siwash  set  up  a  tamanoiis  in  his 
hut  of  shakes  or  on  the  shore  of  his  favorite  fishing  grounds.  He  feared 
and  worshipped  the  Tamanoiis  of  all  nature,  seen  in  the  great  phenomena 
of  the  mountains,  rivers,  winds  and  seasons;  and  he  trusted  and  paid 
tribute  to  his  own  private  tamanoiis,  often  represented  to  his  mind  by 
an  animal  or  bird.  Tamanoiis,  as  magic,  was  an  art  practiced  by  the 
medicine  men  for  healing  the  sick;  and  by  the  tribes  as  a  whole,  or  by 
secret  cults  among  them,  to  invoke  a  good  season,  or  success  in  war, 
or  the  cessation  of  epidemics. 


part  of  Loolowcan,  but  evidently  an  inferior  spirit 
to  that  youth  of  promise.  He  offered  me  his  hand, 
not  without  Indian  courtesy,  and  he  and  his  compatriot, 
if  not  brother,  plunged  together  into  a  splutter  of  confi- 
dential talk. 

The  Doctor,  for  he  did  not  introduce  himself  by  name, 
trotted  along  by  the  side  of  the  ambling  Gubbins,  and 
soon,  just  before  sunset,  we  emerged  upon  a  little  circle 
of  ferny  prairie,  our  camp,  already  known  to  me  by  the 
description  of  Owhhigh.  The  White  River,  the  S'Kamish, 
flowed  hard  by,  behind  a  belt  of  luxuriant  arbor-vitae. 
With  the  Doctor's  aid,  we  took  down  pot  and  pan,  blanket 
and  bread-bag,  from  the  galled  back  of  the  much-enduring 
Antipodes,  and  gave  to  him  and  his  two  comrades  full 
license  to  bury  themselves  among  the  tall,  fragrant  ferns, 
and  nibble,  without  stooping,  top  bits  from  the  gigantic 
grass.  It  was  a  perfect  spot  for  a  bivouac,  a  fairy  ring  of 
ferns  beneath  the  tall,  dark  shelter  of  the  firs.  Tacoma 
was  near,  an  invisible  guardian,  hidden  by  the  forest. 
Beside  us  the  rushing  river  sounded  lulling  music,  making 
rest  sweeter  by  its  contrast  of  tireless  toil.  And  thus 
under  favorable  auspices  we  set  ourselves  to  prepare  for 
the  great  event  of  supper, — the  Doctor  slipping  quietly  into 
the  position  of  a  welcome  guest  without  invitation. 

I  lifted  the  salmon  to  view.  Loolowcan's  murky  brow 
expanded.  A  look  became  decipherable  upon  that  mysteri- 
ous phiz,  and  that  look  meant  gluttony.  The  delicate 
substance  of  my  aristocratic  fish  was  presently  to  be 
devoured  by  frowzy  Klickatat.  At  least,  0  pair  of  bush- 
boys,  you  shall  have  cleanlier  ideas  of  cookery  than  here- 
tofore in  your  gypsy  life,  and  be  taught  that  civihzation 
in  me,  its  representative  for  want  of  a  better,  does  not 
disdain  accepting  the  captaincy  of  a  kitchen  battery. 
First,  then,  my  marmitons,  clear  ye  a  space  carefully  of 
herbage,  and  trample  down  the  ferns  about,  lest  the  flame 
of  our  fire  show  affinity  to  this  natural  hay,  and  our  fair 


paddock  become  a  charred  and  desolate  waste.  We  will 
have  salmon  in  three  courses  on  this  festive  occasion,  when 
I,  for  the  first  time,  entertain  two  young  Klickatats  of 
distinction.  Do  thou,  Loolowcan,  seek  by  the  river-side 
tenacious  twigs  of  alder  and  maple,  wherewith  to  construct 
an  upright  gridiron.  One  blushing  half  of  that  swimmer 
of  the  Puyallop  shall  stand  and  toast  on  this  slight  scaffold- 
ing. Portions  from  the  other  half  shall  be  fried  in  this 
pan,  and  other  portions,  from  the  thicker  part,  shall  be 
neatly  wrapped  in  green  leaves,  and  baked  beneath  the 

So  it  was  done,  and  well  done.  The  colors  that  are 
encased  within  a  salmon,  awaiting  fire  that  they  may  bloom, 
came  forth  artistically.  On  the  toasted  surface  brightened 
warm  yellows,  and  ruddy  orange;  and  delicate  pinkness, 
softened  with  downy  gray,  suffused  the  separating  flakes. 
Potatoes,  too,  roasted  beneath  aromatic  ashes  by  the 
side  of  roasting  blocks  of  salmon, — potatoes  hardened  their 
crusts  against  too  ardent  heat,  that  slowly  ripeness  might 
penetrate  to  their  heart  of  hearts.  Unworthy  the  cook 
that  does  not  feel  the  poetry  of  his  trade! 

The  two  Klickatats,  whether  brothers  or  fellow-clans- 
men, feasted  enormously.  Rasher  after  rasher  of  the  fried, 
block  after  block  of  the  roasted,  flake  after  flake  of  the 
toasted  salmon  vanished.  I  should  have  supposed  that  the 
Doctor  was  suffering  with  a  bulimy,  after  short  commons 
in  his  worship  of  Tamanoiis,  the  mountain  demon,  had  not 
the  appetite  of  Loolowcan,  although  well  fed  at  three 
meals  in  my  service,  been  equal  or  greater.  Before  they 
were  quite  gorged,  I  made  them  a  pot  of  tea,  well  boDed 
and  sticky  with  sugar,  and  then  retired  to  my  dhudeen. 
The  summer  evening  air  enfolded  me  sweetly,  and  down 
from  the  cliffs  and  snowy  mounds  of  Tacoma  a  cool  breeze 
fell  like  the  spray  of  a  cascade. 

After  their  banquet,  the  Indians  were  in  merry  mood, 
and  fell  to  chaffing  one  another.    With  me  Loolowcan  was 


taciturn.  I  could  not  tell  whether  he  was  dull,  sulky,  or 
suspicious.  When  I  smote  him  with  the  tempered  steel 
of  a  keen  query,  meaning  to  elicit  sparks  of  information 
on  Indian  topics,  no  illumination  came.  He  acted  judi- 
ciously his  part,  and  talked  little.  Nor  did  he  bore  me  with 
hints,  as  bystanders  do  in  Christendom,  but  believed  that 
I  knew  also  my  part.  With  his  comrade  he  was  communi- 
cative and  jolly,  even  to  uproariousness.  They  laughed 
sunset  out  and  twilight  in,  finding  entertainment  in  every- 
thing that  was  or  that  happened, — in  their  raggedness,  in 
the  holes  in  their  moccasins,  in  their  overstuffed  proportions 
after  dinner,  in  the  little  skirmishes  of  the  horses,  when  a 
grasshopper  chirped  or  a  cricket  sang,  when  either  of  them 
found  a  sequence  of  blackberries  or  pricked  himself  with  a 
thorn, —  in  every  fact  of  our  little  world  these  children  of 
nature  found  wonderment  and  fun.  They  laughed  them- 
selves sleepy,  and  then  dropped  into  slumber  in  the  ferny 

As  night  drew  on,  heaven  overhead,  seen  as  from  the 
bottom  of  a  well,  was  so  starry  clear  and  intelligible,  and 
the  circuit  of  forest  so  dreamy  mysterious  by  contrast,  that 
I  found  restful  delight,  better  than  sleep,  in  studying  the 
clearness  above  the  mystery.  But  twilight  drifted  away 
after  the  sun,  and  darkness  blackened  my  green  blankets. 
I  mummied  myself  in  their  folds,  and  rolled  in  among  the 
tall,  elastic,  fragrant  ferns. 

My  last  vision,  as  sleep  came  upon  me,  was  the  eyes  of 
Loolowcan  staring  at  me,  and  glowing  serpent-like.  At 
midnight,  when  I  stirred,  the  same  look  watched  me  by 
the  dim  light  of  our  embers.  And  when  gray  dawn  drew 
over  our  bivouac,  and  my  blankets  from  black  to  green 
began  to  turn,  the  same  dusky,  unvariegated  eyeballs  were 
inspecting  me  still.  As  to  the  little  medicine-man,  he  had 
no  responsibility  at  present;  a  pleasant  episode  had  befallen 
him,  and  he  made  the  most  of  it,  sleeping  unwatchfully. 

Seediness  of  a  morning  is  not  the  meed  of  him  who  has 



slept  near  Tacoma  with  naught  but  a  green  blanket  and 
miles  of  elastic  atmosphere  between  him  and  the  stars. 
When  I  woke,  sleep  fell  from  me  suddenly,  as  a  lowly  dis- 
guise falls  from  a  prince  in  a  pantomime.  I  sprang  up, 
myself,  fresh,  clear-eyed,  and  with  never  a  regretful  yawn. 
Nothing  was  astir  in  nature  save  the 
river,  rushing  nigh  at  hand,  and  rousing 
me  to  my  day's  career  by  its  tale  of 
travel  and  urgency. 

It  was  a  joy  to  behold  three  horses 
so  well  fed  as  my  stud  appeared.  Klale 
looked  toward  me  and  whinnied  grate- 
fully for  the  juicy  grasses  and  ferny  bed 
of  his  sheltered  paddock,  and  also  for 
the  remembrance  of  a  new  sensation  he 
had  had  the  day  before, — he  had  carried 
a  biped  through  a  day  of  travel,  and 
the  biped  had  not  massacred  him  with 
his  whip.  Klale  thought  better  and 
more  hopefully  of  humanity.  Tougher 
Gubbins,  who,  with  Loolowcan  on  his 
back,  had  had  no  such  experience,  sung 
no  paeans,  but  stood  doltishly  awaiting 
a  continuance  of  the  inevitable  discom- 
forts of  life. 

After  breakfast,  the  Doctor  hinted 
that  he  liked  my  cheer  and  my  society, 
and  would  gladly  volunteer  to  accom- 
pany me  if  I  would  mount  him  upon 
Antipodes.  I  pointed  out  to  him  that 
it  would  be  weak  to  follow  with  us  along  flowery  paths 
of  pleasure,  when  stem  virtue  called  him  to  the  moun- 
tain-tops; that  Tamanoiis  would  not  pardon  backsliding. 
I  suggested  that  I  was  prepared  for  the  appetite  of  only 
one  Klickatat  gourmand,  and  that  my  tacit  bargain  with 
Antipodes  did  not  include  his  carrying  an  eater  as  well 

Nisqually  Carved  Wood 
Figure,  made  by  Luke, 
a  follower  of  the  cele- 
brated Leschl. 


as  provisions.  The  youth  received  my  refusal  impassively; 
to  ask  for  everything,  and  never  be  disappointed  at  getting 
nothing,  is  Indian  manners.  We  left  him  standing  among 
the  ferns,  gazing  vacantly  upon  the  world,  and  devouring 
a  present  of  hardtack  I  had  given  him, —  he  was  ridding 
himself  at  once  of  that  memorial  of  civilization,  that,  with 
bow  and  arrows  in  hand,  he  might  relapse  into  barbarism, 
in  pathless  wilds  along  the  flanks  of  Tacoma. 

Soon  the  trail  took  a  dip  in  the  river, —  a  morning  bath 
in.  S'Kamish.*  Rapid,  turbulent,  and  deep  was  the 
S'Kamish,  white  with  powder  of  the  boulders  it  had  been 
churning  above,  and  so  turbid  that  boulders  here  were 
invisible.  We  must  ford  with  our  noses  pointing  up  stream, 
least  the  urgent  water,  bearing  against  the  broadsides  of 
our  unsteady  horses,  should  dowse,  if  not  drown  us.  Klale, 
floundering  sometimes,  but  always  recovering  himself ,  took 
me  over  stoutly.  My  moccasins  and  scarlet  leggins  were 
wet,  but  I  had  not  become  dazed  in  the  whirr  and  fallen, 
as  it  is  easy  to  do.  Lubberly  Antipodes  flinched.  He  had 
some  stupid  theory  that  the  spot  we  had  chosen,  just  at 
the  break  above  of  a  rapids,  was  a  less  commodious  ford 
than  the  smooth  whirlpools  below.  He  turned  aside  from 
honest  roughness  to  deluding  smoothness.  He  stepped 
into  the  treacherous  pool,  and  the  waters  washed  over  him. 
There  was  bread  in  the  bags  he  bore.  In  an  instant  he 
scrambled  out,  trying  to  look  meritorious,  as  dolts  do  when 
they  have  done  doltishly  and  yet  escaped.  And  there 
was  pulp  in  the  bags  he  bore.  Pulp  of  hardtack  was  now 
oozing  through  the  seams.  I  was  possessor  of  two  bag 
puddings.  My  cakes  were  dough.  Downright  and 
desiccating  may  be  the  sunshine  of  Oregon  August,  but 
pilot-bread  converted  into  wet  sponge  resists  a  sunbeam  as 
a  cotton-bale  resists  a  cannon-ball.  Only  a  few  inner 
layers  of  the  bread  were  untouched;  as  to  the  outer  strata, 
mouldiness  pervaded  them.    Yet  some  one  profited  by  this 

♦The  White  River. 



disaster;  Loolowcan  henceforth  had  mouldy  biscuit  at  dis- 
cretion. His  discretion  would  not  have  rejected  even  a 
fungous  article.  To  him  my  damp  and  crumbling  crackers 
were  a  delicacy,  the  better  for  their  earthy  fragrance  and 
partial  fermentation. 

We  struck  the  trail  again  after  this  slight  misadventure, 
and  went  on  through  forests  nobler  and  denser  than  those 
of  the  dry  levels  near  Whulge.  The  same  S'Kamish  floods 
that  spoiled  my  farinaceous  stores  nourished  to  greater 
growth  the  mighty  vegetables  of  this  valley.  The  arbor- 
vitae  here  gained  grander  arborescence  and  fresher  vitality. 
This  shrub  of  our  gardens  in  the  Middle  States,  and  gnarled 
tree  of  the  Northeast,  becomes  in  the  Northwest  a  giant 
pyramid,  with  rich  plates  of  foliage  drooping  massively 
about  a  massive  trunk.  Its  full,  juicy  verdure,  sweeping 
to  the  ground,  is  a  relief  after  the  monotony  of  the  stark 
stems  of  fir  forests.*  There  was  no  lack  of  luxuriant  under- 
growth along  these  lowlands  by  the  river.  The  narrow  trail 
plunged  into  thickets  impenetrable  but  for  its  aid.  Wherever 
ancient  trunks  had  fallen,  there  they  lay;  some  in  old  decay 
had  become  green,  mossy  mounds,  the  long  graves  of 
prostrate  giants,  so    carefully    draped    with    their   velvet 

*The  western  red  cedar,  Thuja  plicata,  here  distinguished  from 
Thuja  occidentalis,  the  dwarf  white  cedar  or  arbor-vitse  of  eastern  lawns, 
is  one  of  the  most  interesting  members  of  our  Northwestern  forest. 
Winthrop's  account  closely  fits  the  younger  trees.  Unless  in  very  crowded 
stands,  which  are  rare  and  of  small  extent, —  the  Thnjae  are  good  mix- 
ers, and  not  addicted  to  clannishness,- —  they  retain  their  long,  graceful 
branches  of  gold-green  foliage  till  their  trunks  gain  a  diameter  of  fifteen 
or  twenty  inches.  Then,  in  the  struggle  for  sunlight,  the  tree  drops  its 
lower  limbs,  and  its  clean  stalk  towers  eighty  or  a  hundred  feet  to  the 
first  branch.  The  deeply  fluted,  conical  butts  of  patriarchal  cedars  are 
sometimes  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  in  diameter;  their  stumps  show  nearly 
a  thousand  annua!  rings. 

The  red  cedar  is  easily  recognized,  not  only  by  its  "giant  pyramid" 
of  "rich  plates  of  foliage,"  but  also  by  its  tapering  trunk  and  thin  and  fi- 
brous cinnamon-brown  bark.  Its  light,  soft  but  exceedingly  durable 
wood  makes  it  important  for  timber.  A  frequent  sight  in  these  forests 
is  a  fallen  cedar  which  has  lain  in  damp  ground  for  half  a  century  or 
more,  still  sound  at  core,  but  with  a  stalwart  young  hemlock  or 
other  tree  rooted  in  its  rotting  surface.  Both  the  fallen  tree  and  its 
sturdy  parasite  are  often  logged  for  the  mills. 


covering  that  all  sense  of  ruin  was  gone.  And  some,  that 
fell  from  uprightness  but  a  few  seasons  ago,  showed  still 
their  purple  bark  deepening  in  hue  and  dotted  with  tufts 
of  moss;  or  where  a  crack  had  opened  and  revealed  their 
inner  structure  rotting  slowly  away,  there  was  such  warm 
coloring  as  nature  loves  to  shed,  that  even  decay  may  not 
be  unlovely,  and  the  powdery  wood,  fractured  into  flaky 
cubes,  showed  browns  deep  as  the  tones  of  old  Flemish 
pictures,  or  changeful  agate-like  crimsons  and  solid  yellows. 
Not  always  had  the  ancient  stem  fallen  to  lie  prone  and 
hidden  by  younger  growths,  whose  life  was  sucked  from 
the  corse  of  their  ancestor.  Sometimes,  as  the  antiquated 
arbor-vitse,  worn  away  at  its  base,  swayed,  bent,  and 
went  crashing  downward,  it  had  been  arrested  among  the 
close  ranks  of  upstart  trunks,  and  hung  there  still,  with 
long  gray  moss  floating  from  it,  like  the  torn  banners  in 
a  baronial  chapel, —  hung  there  until  its  heart  should  rot 
and  crumble,  and  then,  its  shell  of  bark  breaking,  it  should 
give  way,  and  shower  down  in  scales  and  dust. 

In  this  northern  forest  there  was  no  feverish  appre- 
hension, such  as  we  feel  in  a  jungle  of  the  tropics,  that 
every  breath  may  be  poison, — that  centipede  in  boot  and 
scorpion  in  pocket,  mere  external  perils,  will  be  far  less 
fatal  than  the  inhaling  of  dense  miasms,  stirred  from  villain- 
ous ambushes  beneath  mounds  of  flowery  verdure.  Here 
no  black  and  yellow  serpent  defended  the  way,  lifting  above 
its  ugly  coil  a  mobile  head,  with  jaws  that  quiver  and  fangs 
that  play.  It  was  a  forest  without  poison, — without  mi- 
asma, and  without  venom. 

It  was  a  forest  just  not  impassable  for  a  train  like  mine, 
and  the  trail  was  but  a  faint  indication  of  a  way,  suggesting 
nothing  except  to  the  trained  eye  of  an  Indian.  Into  the 
pleached  thickets  Klale  could  plunge  and  crash  through, 
while  his  cavalier  fought  against  buffeting  branches,  and 
bent  to  saddle-horn  to  avoid  the  fate  of  Absalom.  But 
when  new-fallen  trunks    of  the    sylvan    giants,  or   great 


"The  trail  took  us  speedily  into  a  forest-temple.  Long 
years  of  labor  by  artists  the  most  unconscious  of  their 
skill  had  been  given  to  modeUing  these  columnar  firs. 
Unlike  the  pillars  of  human  architecture,  chipped  and 
chiselled  in  bustling,  dusty  quarries,  and  hoisted  to 
their  site  by  sweat  of  brow  and  creak  of  pulley,  these 
rose  to  fairest  proportions  by  the  life  that  was  in  them, 
and  blossomed  into  filiated  capitals  three  hundred 
feet  overhead." 

—Chapter  V. 


mossy  mounds,  built  barricades  across  the  path,  tall  as 
the  quadruped  whose  duty  it  was  to  leap  over  them — how 
in  such  case  Klale  the  sprightly?  how  here  Antipodes  the 
flounderer?  how  Gubbins,  stiff  in  the  joints? 

Thus,  by  act  answered  Klale, —  thus:  by  a  leap,  by  a 
scramble,  by  a  jerking  plunge,  by  a  somerset;  like  a  cat, 
like  a  squirrel,  like  a  monkey,  like  an  acrobat,  like  a  mus- 
tang. To  overpass  these  obstacles  is  my  business;  be  it 
yours  to  pass  with  me.  You  must  prove  to  me,  a  nag  of 
the  Klickatats,  that  Boston  strangers  are  as  sticky  as 
siwashes.  Centaurs  have  somewhat  gone  out.  I  have 
been  a  party  and  an  actor  when  the  mustang  sprang  lightly 
over  the  barricade,  and  his  rider  stayed  upon  the  other 
side  supine,  and  gazing  still  where  he  had  just  seen  a  dis- 
appearance of  horse-heels. 

Not  wishing  to  lose  the  respect  of  so  near  a  comrade  as 
my  horse,  I  did  not  allow  our  union  to  be  dissolved.  We 
clung  together  like  voluntary  Siamese  twins,  dashing  be- 
tween fir-trunks,  where  my  nigh  leg  or  my  off  leg  must  whisk 
away  to  avoid  amputation,  thrusting  ourselves  beneath  the 
aromatic  denseness  of  the  drooping  arbor-\itae,  smothered 
together  in  punk  when  a  moss  mound  gave  way  and  we 
sank  down  into  the  dusty  grave  of  a  buried  monarch  of 
his  dell,  or  caught  and  balanced  half-way  over  as  we  essayed 
to  leap  the  broad  back  of  a  fir  fifteen  feet  in  the  girth. 
Whether  Klale,  in  our  frantic  scrambles,  became  a  biped, 
gesticulating  and  clutching  the  air  with  two  hoofed  arms, — 
or  whether  a  monopod,  alighted  on  his  nose  and  lifting  on 
high  a  quintette  of  terminations,  four  legs  and  a  tail, — still 
Klale  and   I  remained  inseparable. 

Assuredly  the  world  has  no  path  worse  than  that, — 
not  even  South  American  muds  or  damaged  corduroys  in 
tropic  swamps.  But  men  must  pay  their  footing  by  labor, 
and  we  urged  on,  with  horses  educated  to  their  task,  often 
fording  the  S'Kamish,  and  careless  now  of  wetting,  clam- 
bering up  ridges  black  with  sunless  woods,  and  penetrating 


steadily  on  through  imperviousness.  Indian  trails  aim 
at  the  open  hillsides  and  avoid  the  thickset  valleys;  but  in 
this  most  primeval  of  forests  the  obstacles  on  the  rugged 
buttresses  of  the  Cascade  chain  were  impracticable  as  the 
dense  growth  below. 

"Ancoti  nesika  nanitch  Boston  hooihut;  presently  we 
see  the  Boston  road,"  said  Loolowcan.  A  glad  sight 
whenever  it  comes,  should  "Boston  road"  here  imply  neat 
macadam,  well-kept  sidewalks,  and  files  of  pretty  cottages, 
behind  screens  of  disciplined  shrubbery.  I  had  heard 
indefinitely  that  a  party  of  "Boston"  men — for  so  all 
Am.ericans  are  called  in  the  Chinook  jargon — were  out 
from  the  settlements  of  Whulge,  viewing,  or  possibly  open- 
ing, a  way  across  the  Cascades,  that  emigrants  of  this 
summer  might  find  their  way  into  Washington  Territory 
direct,  leaving  the  great  overland  caravan  route  near  the 
junction  of  the  two  forks  of  the  Columbia.  Such  an  enter- 
prise was  an  epoch  in  progress.  It  was  the  first  effort  of  an 
infant  community  to  assert  its  individuality  and  emancipate 
itself  from  the  tutelage  of  Oregon.* 

Very  soon  the  Boston  hooihut  became  apparent.  An 
Indian's  trail  came  into  competition  \v'ith  a  civilized  man's 
rude  beginnings  of  a  road.  Wood-choppers  had  passed 
through  the  forest,  hke  a  tornado,  making  a  broad  belt  of 
confusion.  Trim  Boston  neighborhoods  would  have 
scoffed  at  this  rough-and-tumble  cleft  of  the  wild  wood, 
and  declined  being  responsible  for  its  title.  And  yet  two 
centuries  before  this  tramp  of  mine,  my  progenitors  were 
cutting  just  such  paths  near  Boston,  and  then  Canonicus, 
Chickatabot,  and  Passaconomy,  sagamores  of  that  region, 
were  regarding  the  work  very  much  as  Owhhigh,  Skloo,  and 
Kamaiakan,  the  "tyees"  hereabouts,  might  contrast  this 
path  with  theirs.  At  present  this  triumvirate  of  chieftainly 
si  washes  would  have  rightly  deemed  the  Boston  road  far 

*For  an  account  of  the  "Citizens'  Road,"  later  known  as  the  "Mili- 
tary Road,"  see  Appendix  B. 


inferior  to  their  own.  So  the  unenlightened  generally  deem, 
when  they  inspect  the  destruction  that  precedes  recon- 
struction. This  was  a  transition  period.  In  the  Cascades, 
Klickatat  institutions  were  toppling,  Boston  notions  coming 
in.  It  was  the  fulness  of  time.  Owhhigh  and  his  piratical 
band,  slaves  of  Time  and  Space,  might  go  dodging  with 
lazy  detours  about  downcast  trunks,  about  tangles  of  shrubs 
and  brambles,  about  zones  of  morass;  but  Boston  clans  were 
now,  in  the  latter  day,  on  tht  march,  intending  to  be 
masters  of  Time  and  Space,  and  straightforwardness  was 
to  be  the  law  of  motion  here. 

It  was  a  transition  state  of  things  on  the  Boston  hooihut, 
with  all  the  incommodities  of  that  condition.  The  baiTi- 
cades  of  destructive  disorder  were  in  place,  not  yet  displaced 
by  constructive  order.  Passage  by  this  road  of  the  future 
was  monstrous  hard. 

There  is  really  no  such  thing  as  a  conservative.  Joshua  is 
the  only  one  on  record  who  ever  accomplished  anything, 
and  he  only  kept  things  quiet  for  one  day.  We  must  either 
move  forward  with  Hope  and  Faith,  or  backward  to  decay 
and  death  of  the  soul.  But  though  no  man,  not  even 
himself,  has  any  real  faith  in  a  conservative,  for  this  one 
occasion  I  was  compelled  to  violate  the  law  of  my  nature, — 
to  identify  myself  with  conservatism,  and  take  the  ancient 
trail  instead  of  the  modern  highway.  Stiff  as  the  obstacles 
in  the  trail  might  be,  the  obstacles  of  the  road  were  still 
stiffer;  stumps  were  in  it,  fresh  cut  and  upstanding  with 
sharp  or  splintered  edges;  felled  trunks  were  in  it,  with 
wedge-shaped  butts  and  untrimmed  branches,  forming 
impregnable  abattis.  One  might  enter  those  green  bowers 
as  a  lobster  enters  the  pot;  extrication  was  another  and  a 
tougher  task.  Every  inch  of  the  surface  was  planted  with 
laming  caltrops,  and  the  saplings  and  briers  that  once  gi^ew 
there  elastic  were  now  thrown  together,  a  bristling  hedge. 
A  belt  of  forest  had  been  unmade  and  nothing  made. 
Patriotic  sympathy  did  indeed  influence  me  to  stumble 


a  little  way  along  this  shaggy  waste.  I  launched  my 
train  into  this  complexity,  floundered  awhile  in  one 
of  its  unbridged  bogs,  and  wrestled  in  its  thorny  labyrinths, 
until  so  much  of  my  patience  as  was  not  bemired  was 
flagellated  to  death  by  scorpion  scourges  of  briers.  I  trod 
these  mazes  until  even  Klale  showed  signs  of  disgust,  and 
Antipodes,  ungainly  plodder,  could  only  be  propelled  by 
steady  discipline  of  thwacks.  Then  I  gave  up  my  attempt 
to  be  a  consistent  radical.  I  shook  off  the  shavings  and 
splinters  of  a  pioneer  chaos,  and  fell  back  into  primeval  ways. 
In  the  siwash  hooihut  there  was  nothing  to  be  expected, 
and  therefore  no  acrid  pang  of  disappointment  pierced 
my  prophetic  soul  when  I  found  that  path  no  better  than 
it  should  be.  Pride  fired  those  dusky  tunnels,  the  eyes  of 
Loolowcan,  when  we  alighted  again  upon  his  national 
road.  The  Boston  hooihut  was  a  failure,  a  miserable 
muddle.  Loolowcan  leaped  Gubbins  over  the  first  barricade, 
and,  pointing  where  Antipodes  trotted  to  the  sound  of 
rattling  packs  along  the  serpentine  way,  said  calmly,  and 
without  too  ungenerous  scorn,  "Closche  ocook;  beautiful 

Though  I  had  abandoned  their  undone  road,  I  was 
cheered  to  have  met  fresh  traces  of  my  countrymen.  Their 
tree  surgery  was  skilful.  No  clumsy,  tremulous  hand  had 
done  butchery  here  with  haggling  axe.  The  chopping  was 
handiwork  of  artists,  men  worthy  to  be  regicide  headsmxen 
of  forest  monarchs.  By  their  cleavage  light  first  shone 
into  this  gloaming;  the  selfish  grandeurs  of  this  incognito 
earth  were  opened  to-day.  I  flung  myself  forward  two 
centuries,  and  thanked  these  pioneers  in  the  persons  of 
posterity  dwelling  peacefully  in  this  noble  region.  He  who 
strikes  the  first  blow  merits  all  thanks.  May  my  descendants 
be  as  grateful  to  these  Boston  men  as  I  am  now  to  the 
Boston  men  of  two  centuries  ago.  And  may  they  remember 
ancestral  perils  and  difficulties  kindly,  as  I  now  recall  how 
godly  Puritans  once  brandished  ruder  axes  and  bill-hooks, 

1  ri  t" 


opening  paths  of  future  peace  on  the  shores  of  Massa- 

Our  ascent  was  steady  along  the  gorge  of  the  S'Kamish, 
ever  in  this  same  dense  forest.  We  had,  however,  escaped 
from  the  monotony  of  the  bare  fir-trunks.  Columns,  even 
such  as  those  gracefullest  relics  of  Olympian  Jove's  temple 
by  the  Cephissus,  would  weary  were  they  planted  in  ranks 
for  leagues.  The  magnificent  pyramids  of  arbor- vitse  filled 
the  wood  with  sheen  from  their  bright,  varnished  leafage. 
It  was  an  untenanted,  silent  forest,  but  silence  here  in  this 
sunshiny  morning  I  found  not  awful,  hardly  even  solemn. 
Solitude  became  to  me  personal,  and  pregnant  with  possible 
emanations,  as  if  I  were  a  faithful  pagan  in  those  early  days 
when  gods  were  seen  of  men,  and  when,  under  Grecian 
skies,  Pan  and  the  Naiads  whispered  their  secrets  to  the 
lover  of  Nature. 

There  was  rough  vigor  in  these  scenes,  which  banished 
the  half -formed  dread  that  forest  loneliness  and  silence  with- 
out a  buzz  or  a  song,  and  dim  vistas  where  sunlight  falls  in 
ghostly  shapes,  and  leaves  shivering  as  if  a  sprite  had  passed, 
may  inspire.  Pan  here  would  have  come  in  the  form  of  a 
rough,  jolly  giant,  typifying  the  big,  beneficent  forces  of 
Nature  in  her  rugged  moods.  Instead  of  dreading  such  a 
comrade,  his  presence  seemed  a  fitting  culmination  to  the 
influences  of  the  spot,  and,  yielding  to  a  wild  exhilaration,  I 
roused  the  stillness  with  appealing  shouts. 

"Mika  wah  wah  copa  Tamanoiis?  you  talk  with  de- 
mons?" inquired  Loolowcan  with  something  of  mysterious 
awe  in  his  tone. 

I  called  unto  the  gods  of  the  forest,  but  none  answered. 
No  sound  came  back  to  me  save  some  chance  shots  of  echo 
where  my  voice  struck  a  gray,  sinewy  cedar-trunk,  that 
rang  again,  or  the  gentle  murmur  of  solitude  disturbed 
deep  in  the  grove,  as  the  circles  of  agitated  air  vibrated 
again  to  calmness.  No  answer  from  Pan  or  Pan's  unruly 
rout, — no  sound  from  Satjr,  Nymph,   or   Faun,— though 


I  shouted  and  sang  ever  so  loudly  to  them  upon  my  way. 

Through  this  broad  belt  of  woodland,  utterly  lifeless  and 
lonely,  I  rode  steadily,  never  dallying.  In  the  early  after- 
noon I  came  upon  a  little  bushy  level  near  the  S'Kamish. 
We  whisked  along  the  bends  of  the  trail,  when,  suddenly 
whisking,  I  pounced  upon  a  biped, — a  man, — a  Caucasian 
man,— a  Celtic  soldier,— a  wayworn  U.  S.  Fourth  Infantry 
sergeant, — a  meditative  smoker,  apart  from  the  little  army 
encamped  within  hail. 

I  followed  him  toward  the  tent  of  his  fellows.  They 
were  not  revelling  in  the  mad  indulgence  of  camp-life.  Nor 
were  their  prancing  steeds  champing  angry  bits  and  neighing 
defiance  at  the  foe.  Few  of  those  steeds  were  in  marching, 
much  less  in  prancing  order.  If  they  champed  their  iron 
bits,  it  was  because  they  had  no  other  nutriment  to  nibble 
at  in  that  adust  halting-place.  As  to  camp  revelry,  the 
American  army  has  revelled  but  once, —  in  the  Halls  of  the 
Montezumas, — a  very  moderate  allowance  of  revelry  for  a 
space  of  threescore  and  ten  years.  Since  that  time  they 
have  fortunately  escaped  the  ugly  business  of  butchery, 
antecedent  to  revelry.  Their  better  duty  has  been  to  act 
as  the  educated  pioneers  and  protectors  of  Western  progress. 

Such  was  the  office  of  this  detachment.  They  were 
of  Capt.  McClellan's  expedition  for  flushing  a  Pacific  Rail- 
road in  the  brakes  and  bosks  and  tangled  forests  of  the 
Cascades.  I,  taking  casual  glimpses  through  intricacy,  had 
flushed  or  scared  up  only  an  unfledged  Boston  hooihut. 
Their  success  had  been  no  greater,  and  while  the  main 
body  continued  the  hunt,  this  smaller  party  was  on  commis- 
sariat service,  going  across  to  Squally  and  Steflacoom  for 
other  bags  of  pork  and  hardtack,  lest  dinnerlessness  should 
befall  the  Hunters  of  Railroads,  and  there  should  be  aching 
voids  among  them  that  no  tightening  of  belt-buckles  could 

I  found  an  old  acquaintance,  Lieut.  H.,  in  command  of 



these  foragers.*  Three  months  before  we  had  descended 
the  terrace  where  Columbia  Barracks  behold  the  magnifi- 
cent sweeps  of  the  Columbia,  and,  far  beyond,  across  a 
realm  of  forest,  Mt.  Hood,  sublime  pyramid  of  snows, —  we 
had  strolled  down  together  to  the  river-bank  to  take  our 
stirrup-cup  with  Governor  Ogden,  kindliest  of  hosts,  at  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company's  post  of  Fort  Vancouver.  Now, 
after  wanderings  hither  and  yon,  we  suddenly  confronted 

BRIG.  GEN.   HENRY  C.   HODGES.  U.   S.  A. 
The  "Lieut.  H."  of  Chapter  V. 

each  other  in  the  wilderness,  and  exchanged  hearty  greet- 
ings. I  was  the  enviable  man,  with  my  compact  party  and 
horses  in  tolerable  condition.  He  officered  a  squadron  of 
Rosinantes,  a  very  wayworn  set,  and  the  obstacles  on  the 
trail  that  I  could  lightly  skip  over  he  must  painfully  be- 
leaguer. He  informed  me  that  the  road-makers  were  at 
work  somewhere  this  side  of  the  summit  of  the  Pass.  I 
might  overtake  them  before  night. 

While  we  sympathized  and  gossiped,  Loolowcan  slunk 
forward  to  say,  "Sia-a-ah  mitlite  ocook  tipsoo,  car  nesika 

*For  Gen.  Hodges's  reminescences  of  Winthrop,  see  Appendix  C. 


moosum;  far,  far  is  that  grass  spot  where  we  sleep; — pe 
wake  siah  chaco  pohkely;  and  not  far  comes  night." 

So  I  turned  from  the  tents  of  the  busy  camp,  busy  even 
in  repose.  H.  walked  with  me  to  the  S'Kamish  to  show  me 
the  ford.  If  from  the  scanty  relics  of  his  stores  he  could 
not  offer  hospitality,  he  would  give  me  a  fact  from  his 
experience  of  crossing  the  river,  so  that  I  need  not  dip 
involuntarily  in  the  deeps,  and  swallow  cold  comfort.  On 
the  bank  some  whittlers  of  his  squad  had  amused  them- 
selves with  whittling  down  a  taper  fir-tree,  a  slender  wand, 
three  hundred  feet  in  length  from  where  its  butt  lay  among 
the  chips,  to  the  tip  of  its  pompon,  where  it  had  fallen  across 
the  stream. 

H.  looked  suspiciously  upon  the  low-browed  and  frowzy 
Loolowcan,  and  doubted  the  safety  and  certainty  of  journey- 
ing with  such  a  guide  in  such  a  region,— as,  indeed,  I  did 
myself.  I  forded  unducked  in  the  ripples,  turned  to  wave 
him  adieu,  and  blotted  myself  out  of  his  sphere  behind  the 
sky-scraper  firs.  We  met  next  in  the  foyer  of  the  opera, 
between  acts  of  Tra^'iata. 

Loneliness  no  longer  lay  heavy  in  the  woods.  It  was 
shattered  and  trampled  out  where  that  little  army  had 
marched.  Presently  in  their  trail  a  ghostly  object  appeared, 
— not  a  ghost,  but  something  tending  fast  toward  the 
ghostly  state;  a  poor,  wasted,  dreary  white  horse,  standing 
in  the  trail,  abandoned,  too  stiff  to  fall,  too  weaiy  to  stir. 
Every  winged  phlebotomizer  of  the  Oregon  woods  seemed 
to  have  hastened  hither  to  blacken  that  pale  horse,  soon  to  be 
Death's,  and,  though  he  trembled  feebly,  he  had  not  power 
to  scatter  the  nipping  insects  vAih.  a  convulsive  shake.  I 
approached,  and  whisked  away  his  tormentors  by  the  aid 
of  a  maple-bush.  They  fought  me  for  a  while,  but  finding 
me  resolute,  confident  in  their  long-enduring  patience,  they 
retired  with  a  loud  and  angry  buzz.  I  could  find  no  morsel 
of  refreshment  for  him  in  the  bitter  woods.  At  mouldy 
hardtack  he  shook  a  despairing  head.     In  fact,  it  was  too 

a  giant 


late.  There  comes  a  time  to  horses  when  they  cannot 
prance  with  the  prancers,  or  plod  with  the  plodders,  or  trail 
weary  hoofs  after  the  march  of  their  comrades.  Yet  it  was 
more  chivalric  for  this  worn-out  estray  to  die  here  in  the 
aromatic  forest,  than  to  lose  life  in  the  vile  ooze  of  a  Broad- 

Poor,  lean  mustang,  victim  of  progress!  Nothing  to 
do  but  let  him  die,  since  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  a  merci- 
ful assassination.  So  I  went  on  disconsolate  after  the  sight 
of  suffering,  until  my  own  difficulties  along  that  savage 
trail  compelled  my  thought  away  from  dwelling  on  another's 

Potlatcb  House  of  the  Skokomish  Indians,  at  Inati,  on  Hood's  Canal. 



Night  was  now  coming, —  twilight,  dearest  and  tenderest 
of  all  the  beautiful  changes  of  circling  day  was  upon  us.  But 
twilight,  the  period  of  repose,  and  night,  of  restful  slumbers, 
are  not  welcome  to  campaigners,  unless  a  camp,  with  water, 
fodder,  and  fuel,  the  three  requisites  of  a  camp,  are  provided. 
We  saw  our  day  waning  without  having  revealed  to  us  a 
spot  where  these  three  were  coincident.  Fuel,  indeed, 
there  was  anywhere  without  stint,  and  water  might  be  found 
without  much  searching.  But  in  this  primeval  wood  there 
were  no  beds  of  verdant  herbage  where  Klale  and  his 
companions  might  solace  themselves  for  clambering  and 
plunging  and  leaping  all  day.  Verdancy  enough  there  was 
under  foot,  but  it  was  the  green  velvet  of  earthy  moss.  In 
some  dusty,  pebbly  openings  where  the  river  overflows  in 
spring,  the  horses  had  had  a  noon  nibble  at  spears  of  gi'ass, 
juiceless,  scanty,  and  unattractive.  My  trio  of  hungry 
horses  flagged  sadly. 

It  v/as  darkening  fast  when  we  reached  an  open  spot 
where  Loolowcan  had  hoped  to  find  gi^ass.  Arid  starvation 
alone  was  visible.  Even  such  wiry  attempts  at  verdure 
as  the  stagnant  blood  of  this  petty  desert  had  been  able  to 
force  up  through  its  harsh  pores  were  long  ago  shaved  away 
by  drought.  The  last  nibbles  had  been  taken  to-day  by 
the  sorry  steeds  of  the  exploring  party. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  on.  Whither?  To 
the  next  crossing  of  the  river,  where  the  horses  might  make 


what  they  could  out  of  water,  and  entertain  themselves 
with  browsing  at  alder  and  maple. 

We  hurried  on,  for  it  was  now  dark.  The  Boston  hooihut 
suddenly  came  charging  out  of  the  gloaming,  and  crossed 
the  trail.  Misunderstanding  the  advice  of  my  taciturn 
and  monosyllabic  guide,  I  left  the  Indian  way,  and  followed 
the  white  man's.  Presently  it  ended,  but  the  trees  were 
blazed  where  it  should  pass.  Blazes  were  but  faint  signals 
of  guidance  by  twilight.  Dimmer  grew  the  woods.  Stars 
were  visible  overhead,  and  the  black  circles  of  the  forest 
shut  off  the  last  gleams  of  the  west.  Every  obstacle  of  fallen 
tree,  bramble,  and  quagmire  now  loomed  large  and  for- 
midable. And  then  in  the  darkness,  now  fully  possessor 
of  the  woods,  the  blazes  suddenly  disappeared,  went  out, 
and  ceased,  like  a  deluding  will-o'-the-wisp.  Here  was  a 
crisis.  Had  the  hooihut  actually  given  out  here  in  an 
invisible  blaze,  high  up  a  stump?  Road  that  dared  so  much 
and  did  so  much,  were  its  energies  effete,  its  purpose  broken 
down?  And  the  pioneers,  had  they  shrunk  away  from 
leadership  of  civilization,  and  slunk  homeward? 

However  that  might  be,  we  were  at  present  lost.  Ride 
thou  on,  Loolowcan,  and  see  if  Somewhere  is  hereabouts; 
we  cannot  make  a  night  of  it  in  Nowhere. 

Loolowcan  dashed  Gubbins  at  darkness;  it  opened  and 
closed  upon  him.  For  a  moment  I  could  hear  him  crashing 
through  the  wood;  then  there  was  silence.  I  was  quite 

Prying  into  silence  for  sight  or  sound,  I  discerned  a 
rumble,  as  if  of  water  over  a  pebbly  path.  I  fastened 
Klale  and  Antipodes,  as  beacons  of  return,  and,  laying  hold 
of  the  pleasant  noise  of  flowing,  went  with  it.  Somewhere 
was  actually  in  my  near  neighborhood.  Sound  guided  me 
to  sight.  Suddenly  behind  the  fu'-trunks  I  caught  the  gleam 
of  fire.  At  the  same  moment,  Loolowcan,  cautiously  stealing 
back,  encountered  me. 

"Hin  pasaiooks  copa  pu'e,  nika  nanitch-pose  wake  siks; 

92         THE  CANOE  AND  THE  SADDLE. 

many  blanketeers,  by  a  fire,  I  behold,"  he  whispered,  "per- 
haps not  friends." 

"Conoway  pasaiooks  siks  copa  pasaiooks;  all  blanketeers 
friends  to  blanketeers,"  I  boldly  asseverated  without  regard 
to  history;  "wake  quash, — ocook  Boston  tilicum,  mamook 
hooihut;  fear  not, — these  are  Boston  folk,  road-makers." 

I  led  the  way  confidently  toward  their  beacon-fire. 
Friends  or  not,  the  pasaiooks  were  better  company  than 
black  tree-trunks.  The  flame,  at  first  but  a  cloudy  glimmer, 
then  a  flicker,  now  gave  broad  and  welcome  light.  It  could 
not  conquer  darkness  with  its  bold  illumination,  for  dark- 
ness is  large  and  strong;  but  it  showed  a  path  out  of  it.  As 
we  worked  our  way  slowly  forward,  the  great  trees  closed 
dimly  after  us, — giants  attending  out  of  their  domain  intrud- 
ers very  willing  to  be  thus  sped  into  realms  of  better  omen. 

Beating  through  a  flagellant  thicket,  we  emerged  upon 
the  bank  of  my  rumbling  stream.  Across  it  a  great  camp- 
fire  blazed.  A  belt  of  reflected  crimson  lay  upon  the  clear 
water.  Every  ripple  and  breaker  of  the  hostile  element 
tore  at  this  shadow  of  light,  riving  it  into  rags  and  streamers, 
and  drowning  them  away  down  the  dell.  Still  the  shattered 
girdle  was  there  undestroyed,  lashing  every  coming  gush 
of  waves,  and  smiting  the  stream  as  if  to  open  a  pathway 
for  us,  new-comers  forth  from  the  darksome  wood. 

A  score  of  men  were  grouped  about  the  fire.  Several 
had  sprung  up  alert  at  the  crashing  of  our  approach.  Others 
reposed  untroubled.  Others  tended  viands  odoriferous  and 
fizzing.  Others  stirred  the  flame.  Around,  the  forest  rose, 
black  as  Erebus,  and  the  men  moved  in  the  glare  against 
the  gloom  like  pitmen  in  the  blackest  of  coal-mines. 

I  must  not  dally  on  the  brink,  half  hid  in  the  obscure 
thicket,  lest  the  alert  ones  below  should  suspect  an  ambush, 
and  point  toward  me  open-mouthed  rifles  from  their  stack 
near  at  hand.  I  was  enough  out  of  the  woods  to  halloo, 
as  I  did  heartily.  Klale  sprang  forward  at  shout  and  spur. 
Antipodes  obeyed  a  comprehensible  hint  from  the  whip 


Kortheast  slope  of  Mt.  Rainier — Tacoma.     Named  in 
honor  of  Theodore  Winthrop. 

"The  blue  haze  so  wavered  and  trembled  into  sunlight, 
and  sunbeams  shot  glimmering  over  snowy  brinks  so 
like  a  constant  avalanche,  that  I  m.ight  doubt  whether 
this  movement  and  waver  and  glimmer,  this  blending 
of  mist  with  noontide,  were  not  a  drifting  smoke  and 
cloud  of  yellow  sulphurous  vapor  floating  over  some 
slowly  chilling  crater  far  down  in  the  red  crevices." 

—Chapter  VII. 


of  Loolowcan.  We  dashed  down  into  the  crimson  pathway, 
and  across  among  the  astonished  road-makers, —  astonished 
at  the  sudden  ahghting  down  from  Nowhere  of  a  pair  of 
cavaliers,  pasaiook  and  siwash.  What  meant  this  incursion 
of  a  strange  couple?  I  became  at  once  the  centre  of  a  red- 
flannel-shirted  circle.  The  recumbents  stood  on  end.  The 
cooks  let  their  frying-pans  bubble  over,  while,  in  response 
to  looks  of  expectation,  I  hung  out  my  handbill,  and  told 
the  society  my  brief  and  simple  tale.  I  was  not  running 
away  from  any  fact  in  my  history.  A  harmless  person, 
asking  no  favors,  with  plenty  of  pork  and  spongy  biscuit 
in  his  bags, —  only  going  home  across  the  continent,  if  may 
be,  and  glad,  gentlemen  pioneers,  of  this  unexpected 

My  quality  thus  announced,  the  boss  of  the  road-makers, 
without  any  dissenting  voice,  offered  me  the  freedom  of 
their  fireside.  He  called  for  the  fatted  pork,  that  I  might 
be  entertained  right  republicanly.  Every  cook  proclaimed 
supper  ready.  I  followed  my  representative  host  to  the 
windward  side  of  the  greenwood  pyre,  lest  smoke  wafting 
toward  my  eyes  should  compel  me  to  disfigure  the  banquet 
with  lachrymose  countenance. 

Fronting  the  coals,  and  basking  in  their  embrowning 
beams,  were  certain  diminutive  targets,  well  known  to  me 
as  defensive  armor  against  darts  of  cruel  hunger, — cakes 
of  unleavened  bread,  hight  flapjacks  in  the  vernacular,  con- 
fected  of  flour  and  the  saline  juices  of  fire-ripened  pork, 
and  kneaded  well  with  drops  of  the  living  stream.  Baked 
then  in  frying-pan,  they  stood  now,  each  nodding  forward, 
and  resting  its  edge  upon  a  planted  twig,  toasting  crustily 
till  crunching-time  should  come.  And  now  to  every  man 
his  target!  Let  supper  assail  us!  No  dastards  with  trencher 
are  we. 

In  such  a  Platonic  republic  as  this,  a  man  found  his  place 
according  to  his  powers.  The  cooks  were  no  base  scullions; 
they  were  brethren,  whom  conscious  ability,  sustained  by 



universal  suffrage,  had  endowed  with  the  frying-pan.  Each 
man's  target  flapjack  served  him  for  platter  and  edible- 
table.  Coffee,  also,  for  beverage,  the  fraternal  cooks  set 
before  us  in  infrangible  tin  pots, — coffee  ripened  in  its  red 
husk  by  Brazilian  suns  thousands  of  leagues  away,  that  we, 
in  cool  northern  forests,  might  feel  the  restorative  power 
of  its  concentrated  sunshine,  feeding  vitality  with  fresh  fuel. 
But  for  my  graminivorous  steeds,  gallopers  all  day  long 


Leader  of  the  Road  Builders. 

in  rough,  unflinching  steeple-chase,  what  had  nature  done 
here  in  the  way  of  provender?  Alas!  little  or  naught.  This 
camp  of  plenty  for  me  was  a  starvation  camp  for  them. 
Water,  indeed,  was  turned  on  liberally;  water  was  flowing 
in  full  sluices  from  the  neighbor  snows  of  Tacoma;  but  more 
than  water  was  their  need,  while  they  feverishly  browsed 
on  maple-leaves,  to  imbitter  away  their  appetites.  Only 
a  modicum  of  my  soaked  and  fungous  hardtack  could  be 
spared  to  each.     They  turned  upon  me  melancholy,  re- 


proachful  looks;  they  suffered,  and  I  could  only  suffer 
sympathetically.  Poor  preparation  this  for  toil  ahead!  But 
fat  prairies  also  are  ahead;  have  patience,  empty  mustangs! 
My  hosts  were  a  stalwart  gang.  I  had  truly  divined 
them  from  their  cleavage  on  the  hooihut.  It  was  but  play 
to  any  one  of  these  to  whittle  down  a  cedar  five  feet  in  diam- 
eter. In  the  m^orning,  this  compact  knot  of  comrades  would 
explode  into  a  mitraille  of  men  wielding  keen  axes,  and  down 
would  go  the  dumb,  stolid  files  of  the  forest.  Their  talk 
was  as  muscular  as  their  arms.  When  these  laughed,  as 
only  men  fresh  and  hearty  and  in  the  open  air  can  laugh, 
the  world  became  mainly  grotesque;  it  seemed  at  once  a 
comic  thing  to  live, —  a  subject  for  chuckling,  that  we  were 
bipeds,  with  noses, — a  thing  to  roar  at,  that  we  had  all  met 
there  from  the  wide  world,  to  hobnob  by  a  frolicsome  fire 
with  tin  pots  of  coffee,  and  partake  of  crisped  bacon  and 
toasted  doughboys  in  ridiculous  abundance.  Easy  laughter 
infected  the  atmosphere.  Echoes  ceased  to  be  pensive,  and 
became  jocose.  A  rattling  humor  pervaded  the  forest,  and 
Green  River  rippled  with  noise  of  fantastic  jollity.*  Civ- 
ilization and  its  dilettante  diners-out  sneer  when  Clodpole 
at  Dives's  table  doubles  his  soup,  knifes  his  fish,  tilts  his 
plate  into  his  lap,  puts  muscle  into  the  crushing  of  his 
meringue,  and  tosses  off  the  warm  beaker  in  his  finger-bowl. 
Camps  by  Tacoma  sneer  not  at  all,  but  candidly  roar,  at 
parallel  accidents.  Gawky  makes  a  cushion  of  his  flapjack. 
Butterfingers  drops  his  red-hot  rasher  into  his  bosom,  or  lets 
slip  his  mug  of  coffee  into  his  boot  drying  at  the  fire, — a  boot 
henceforth  saccharine.  A  mule,  slipping  his  halter,  steps 
forward  unnoticed,  puts  his  nose  into  the  circle,  and  brays 
resonant.  These  are  the  jocular  boons  of  life,  and  at  these 
the  woodsmen  guffaw  with  lusty  good-nature.    Coarse  and 

*By  "Green  River"  Winthrop  means  the  stream  we  now  call  Green- 
water  River.  Governor  Stevens,  in  his  Railway  Report,  makes  the 
same  error.  Green  River  flov/s  west  from  Stampede  Pass,  about  ten 
miles  north  of  Naches  Pass.  It  furnishes  the  water-supply  of  the  city 
of  Tacoma. 


rude  the  jokes  may  be,  but  not  nasty,  like  the  innuendoes 
of  pseudo-refined  cockneys.  If  the  woodsmen  are  guilty 
of  uncleanly  wit,  it  differs  from  the  uncleanly  wit  of  cities 
as  the  mud  of  a  road  differs  from  the  sticky  slime  of  slums. 

It  is  a  stout  sensation  to  meet  masculine,  muscular 
men  at  the  brave  point  of  a  penetrating  Boston  hooihut, — 
men  who  are  mates, —  men  to  whom  technical  culture  means 
naught, —  men  to  whom  myself  am  naught,  unless  I  can 
saddle,  lasso,  cook,  sing,  and  chop;  unless  I  am  a  man  of 
nerve  and  pluck,  and  a  brother  in  generosity  and  heartiness. 
It  is  restoration  to  play  at  cudgels  of  jocoseness  with  a 
circle  of  friendly  roughs,  not  one  of  whom  ever  heard  the 
word  bore, — with  pioneers,  who  must  think  and  act,  and 
wrench  their  living  from  the  closed  hand  of  Nature. 

Men  who  slash  with  axes  in  Oregon  woods  need  not  be 
chary  of  fuel.  They  fling  together  boles  and  branch'es 
enough  to  keep  any  man's  domestic  Lares  warm  for  a  winter. 
And  over  this  vast  pyre  flame  takes  its  splendid  pleasure 
with  corybantic  dances  and  roaring  paeans  of  victory. 
Fire,  encouraged  to  do  its  work  fully,  leaves  no  unsightly 
grim  corses  on  the  field.  The  glow  of  embers  wastes  into 
the  pallor  of  thin  ashes;  and  winds  may  clear  the  spot,  drift- 
ing away  and  sprinkling  upon  brother  trees  faint,  filmy  relics 
of  their  departed  brethren. 

While  fantastic  flashes  were  still  leaping  up  and  illu- 
mining the  black  circuit  of  forest,  every  man  made  his  bed, 
laid  down  his  blankets  in  starry  bivouac,  and  slept  like 
a  mummy.  The  camp  became  vocal  with  snores;  nasal 
with  snores  of  various  calibre  was  the  forest.  Some  in  tri- 
umphant tones  announced  that  dreams  of  conflict  and 
victory  were  theirs;  some  sighed  in  dulcet  strains  that  told 
of  lover  dreams;  some  drew  shrill  whistles  through  cavernous 
straits;  some  wheezed  grotesquely,  and  gasped  piteously; 
and  from  some  who  lay  supine,  snoring  up  at  the  fretted 
roof  of  forest,  sound  gushed  in  spasms,  leaked  in  snorts, 
bubbled  in  puffs,  as  steam  gushes,  leaks,  and  bubbles  from 

Portion  of  the  famous  "Military  Road"  across  the  Naches  Pass,  with  a  grade 
of  thirty  per  cent.      Down  this  grade  the  "emigrants"  of  territorial 
days  "snubbed"  their  wagons  with  chains  around  the  trees. 


yawning  valves  in  degraded  steamboats.  They  died  away 
into  the  music  of  my  dreams,  a  few  moments  seemed  to 
pass,  and  it  was  day. 

As  the  erect  lily  droops  when  the  subterranean  worm 
has  taken  a  gnaw  at  its  stalk, —  as  the  dahlia  desponds  from 
blossom  to  tuber  when  September  frosts  nip  shrewdly, — 
so  at  breakfastless  morn,  after  supperless  eve,  drooped  Klale, 
feebly  drooped  Gubbins,  flabbily  drooped  Antipodes.  A 
sorry  sight!  Starvation,  coming  on  the  heels  of  weariness, 
was  fast  reducing  my  stud  to  the  condition  of  the  ghostly 
estray  from  the  exploring  party.  But  prosperity  is  not 
many  leagues  away  from  this  adversity.  Have  courage, 
my  trio,  if  such  a  passion  is  possible  to  the  unfed! 

If  horses  were  breakfastless,  not  so  was  their  master. 
The  road-makers  had  insisted  that  I  should  be  their  guest, 
partaking  not  only  of  the  fu-e,  air,  earth,  and  water  of  their 
bivouac,  but  of  an  honorable  share  at  their  feast.  Hardly 
had  the  snoring  of  the  snorers  ceased,  when  the  frying  of 
the  fryers  began.  In  the  pearly-gray  mists  of  dawn,  purple 
shu-ts  were  seen  busy  about  the  kindhng  pile;  in  the  golden 
haze  of  sunrise,  cooks  brandished  pans  over  fierce  coals 
raked  from  the  red-hot  jaws  of  flame  that  champed  their 
breakfast  of  fir  logs.  Rashers,  doughboys  not  without  mo- 
lasses, and  coffee  —  a  bill  of  fare  identical  with  last  night's 
—  were  our  morning  meal;  but  there  was  absolute  change 
of  circumstance  to  prevent  monotony.  We  had  daylight 
instead  of  firelight,  freshness  instead  of  fatigue,  and  every 
man  flaunted  a  motto  of  "Up  and  doing!"  upon  his  ori- 
flamme,  instead  of  trailing  a  drooping  flag,  inscribed  "Done 

And  so  adieu,  gentlemen  pioneers,  and  thanks  for  your 
frank,  manly  hospitality!  Adieu,  "Boston  tilicum,"  far 
better  types  of  robust  Americanism  than  some  of  those 
selected  as  its  representatives  by  Boston  of  the  Orient, 
where  is  too  much  worship  of  what  is,  and  not  too  much 
uplifting  of  hopeful  looks  toward  what  ought  to  be! 


As  I  started,  the  woodsmen  gave  me  a  salute.  Down, 
to  echo  my  shout  of  farewell,  went  a  fir  of  fifty  years'  stand- 
ing. It  cracked  sharp,  like  the  report  of  a  howitzer,  and 
crashed  downward,  filling  the  woods  with  shattered  branches. 
Under  cover  of  this  first  shot,  I  dashed  at  the  woods.  I 
could  ride  more  boldly  forward  into  savageness,  knowing 
that  the  front  ranks  of  my  nation  were  following  close 

Yakima  Stono  Cooking  Pots. 


"I  had  been  following  thus  for  many  hours  the  blind 
path,  harsh,  darksome,  and  utterly  lonely.  At  last,  as 
I  stormed  a  ragged  crest,  gaining  a  height  that  over- 
topped the  firs, — as  I  looked  somewhat  wearily  across 
the  solemn  surges  of  the  forest,  suddenly  above  their 
sombre  green  appeared  Tacoma.  Large  and  neighbor 
it  stood,  so  near  that  every  jewel  of  its  snow-fields 
seemed  to  send  m.e  a  separate  ray;  yet  not  so  near  but 
that  I  could  with  one  look  take  in  its  whole  image,  from 
clear-cut  edge  to  edge.  All  around  it  the  dark  evergreens 
rose  like  a  ruff;  above  them  the  mountain  splendors 
swelled  statelier  for  the  contrast." 

—Chapter  VII. 

MOH-i    7837/:  ^17 

Zl-S  .-   ■/    Ml  •>     t-T'l" 



Up  and  down  go  the  fortunes  of  men,  now  benignant, 
now  malignant.  Ante  meridiem  of  our  lives,  we  are  rising 
characters.  Our  full  noon  comes,  and  we  are  borne  with 
plaudits  on  the  shoulders  of  a  grateful  populace.  Post 
meridiem,  we  are  ostracized,  if  not  more  rudely  mobbed. 
At  twilight,  we  are  perhaps  recalled,  and  set  on  the  throne 
of  Nestor. 

Such  slow  changes  in  esteem  are  for  men  of  some  im- 
port and  of  settled  character.  Loolowcan  suffered  under 
a  more  rapidly  fluctuating  public  opinion.  At  the  camp 
of  the  road-makers,  he  had  passed  through  a  period  of 
neglect, —  almost  of  ignominy.  My  hosts  had  prejudices 
against  redskins;  they  treated  the  son  of  Owhhigh  with  no 
consideration;  and  he  became  depressed  and  slinking  in 
manner  under  the  influence  of  their  ostracism.  No  sooner 
had  we  disappeared  from  the  range  of  Boston  eyes  than 
Loolowcan  resumed  his  leadership  and  his  control.  I  was 
very  secondary  now,  and  followed  him  humbly  enough  up 
the  heights  we  had  reached.  Here  were  all  the  old  difficul- 
ties increased,  because  they  were  no  longer  met  on  a  level. 
We  were  to  climb  the  main  ridge, — the  mountain  of  La  Tete,  ♦ 
—  abandoning  the  valley,  assaulting  the  summits.    And  here, 

*"La  Tete,"  as  the  name  of  an  elevation  on  the  west  side  of  the  Cas- 
cades, is  found  in  many  documents  of  the  Territorial  days.  The  name, 
it  is  said,  was  given  by  the  French-Canadian  trappers  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  because  of  a  crag  on  the  summit  shaped  like  a  human 
head.  This  mountain,  however,  appears  on  no  topographical  survey 
or  other  authentic  map,  and  its  location  is  somewhat  in  dispute  among 
the  surviving  pioneers.   Captain  Wilkes,  members  of  whose  party  crossed 


as  Owhhigh  had  prophesied  in  his  harangue  at  Nisqually, 
the  horse's  mane  must  be  firmly  grasped  by  the  cUmber. 
Poor,  panting,  weary  nags!  may  it  be  true,  the  promise  of 
Loolowcan,  that  not  far  away  is  abundant  fodder!  But 
where  can  aught,  save  firs  with  ostrich  digestion,  grow  on 
these  rough,  forest-clad  shoulders? 

So  I  clambered  on  till  near  noon. 

I  had  been  following  thus  for  many  hours  the  blind 

the  range  in  1842,  gives  the  height  of  La  TSte  by  barometer  as  2,798 
feet.  {Wilkes:  U.  S.  Exploring  Expedition,  IV.,  422).  This  low  ele- 
vation would  place  it  well  down  on  the  west  slope.  Governor  Stevens, 
in  his  Pacfic  Railway  Report,  says  it  is  near  the  junction  of  the  White 
and  Green  (Greenwater)  rivers.  This  is  indefinite;  peaks  in  that  region 
are  almost  as  thick  as  huckleberry  bushes  on  a  mountain  burn.  Several 
of  my  informants  assign  it,  more  exactly,  to  the  north  side  of  the  White, 
about  a  mile  west  of  Greenwater. 

It  is  certain,  however,  that  Winthrop's  "La  Tete"  was  something 
else.  He  had  no  time  for  a  detour,  and  climbed  no  elevation  which  his 
forced  march  across  the  range  did  not  require  him  to  climb.  The  text 
shows  that  his  inspiring  view  of  "Tacoma"  was  had  from  an  eminence 
on  the  line  of  his  trip,  not  off  it;  and  very  shortly  before  he  reached  his 
noonday  camp  in  the  glacial  meadows  at  the  top  of  the  Pass.  The  old 
Indian  trail,  as  well  as  the  track  of  the  "Military  Road,"  leaves  the  Green- 
water several  miles  west  of  the  Pass,  and  leads  up  the  steep  chine  of  a 
ridge  between  deep  canyons  cut  by  feeders  of  that  stream.  It  is  the  sum- 
mit of  this  ridge  to  which  Winthrop  gives  a  name  he  had  doubtless  heard 
the  night  before  among  the  road  builders.  This  summit  is  now  densely 
covered  by  young  forest,  largely  grown  since  Winthrop's  time.  A  much 
greater  elevation,  with  still  wider  outlook,^  Pyramid  Peak,  on  the 
north  side  of  Naches  Pass, —  was  climbed  to  obtain  some  of  the  photo- 
graphs reproduced  in  this  volume. 

In  the  '50s,  "La  Tete"  was  a  well-known  landmark  on  the  route 
across  the  Cascades.  Like  other  mountain  districts,  its  sides  were  burnt 
from  time  to  time  by  the  Indians,  who  thus  held  their  favorite  berry 
fields  against  the  encroachment  of  the  forest.  Not  far  away,  within 
the  fork  of  the  two  rivers,  is  a  small  salal-covered  flat,  treeless  then  and 
now,  and  known  as  "Bear  Prairie."  As  the  densely  forested  western 
slope  of  the  Cascades  offered  scant  pasture  for  horses  and  cattle.  Gov- 
ernor Stevens,  in  order  to  aid  the  new  settlers  who  were  expected  to 
use  this  route  in  completing  their  long  trek  to  Puget  Sound,  asked 
the  second  territorial  legislature  to  make  a  small  appropriation  for  sowing 
Bear  Prairie  and  the  sides  of  La  Tete  with  grass  seed.  The  very  simplicity 
of  his  humane  recommendation  provoked  a  bray  from  that  familiar  nui- 
sance, the  would-be  wit  of  the  legislature,  and  defeated  the  suggestion. 
"Governor  Stevens,"  shouted  this  statesman,  who  knew  more  about  the 
plans  of  Providence  than  about  commonwealth-building,  —  "Governor 
Stevens  needn't  try  to  make  grass  grow  where  God  Almighty  did  not 
make  it  grow!" — Stevens,  I.,  446. 

TACOMA.  101 

path,  harsh,  darksome,  and  utterly  lonely,  urging  on  with 
no  outlook,  encountering  no  landmark, —  at  last,  as  I  stormed 
a  ragged  crest,  gaining  a  height  that  overtopped  the  firs, 
and,  halting  there  for  panting  moments,  glanced  to  see  if 
I  had  achieved  mastery  as  well  as  position, —  as  I  looked 
somewhat  wearily  and  drearily  across  the  solemn  surges  of 
forest,  suddenly  above  their  sombre  green  appeai'ed  Tacoma. 
Large  and  neighbor  it  stood,  so  near  that  every  jewel  of 
its  snow-fields  seemed  to  send  me  a  separate  ray;  yet  not 
so  near  but  that  I  could  with  one  look  take  in  its  whole 
image,  from  clear-cut  edge  to  edge. 

All  around  it  the  dark  evergreens  rose  like  a  ruff;  above 
them  the  mountain  splendors  swelled  statelier  for  the  con- 
trast. Simlight  of  noon  was  so  refulgent  upon  the  crown, 
and  lay  so  thick  and  dazzling  in  nooks  and  chasms,  that 
the  eye  sought  repose  of  gentler  lights,  and  found  it  in 
shadowed  nooks  and  clefts,  where,  sunlight  entering  not, 
delicate  mist,  an  emanation  from  the  blue  sky,  had  fallen, 
and  lay  sheltered  and  tremulous,  a  mild  substitute  for  the 
stronger  glory.  The  blue  haze  so  wavered  and  trembled 
into  sunlight,  and  sunbeams  shot  glimmering  over  snowy 
brinks  so  like  a  constant  avalanche,  that  I  might  doubt 
whether  this  movement  and  waver  and  glimmer,  this  blend- 
ing of  mist  with  noontide  flame,  were  not  a  drifting  smoke 
and  cloud  of  yellow  sulphurous  vapor  floating  over  some 
slowly  chilling  crater  far  down  in  the  red  crevices.* 

*It  was  the  afternoon  of  Saturday,  August  27,  when  Winthrop 
beheld  this  scene,  one  of  the  noblest  mountain  spectacles  in  the  world. 
See  his  Journal  entry  for  that  day,  page  283,  and  note. 

As  he  looked  southwest  from  the  edge  of  Naches  Pass,  he  saw  directly 
facing  him,  twenty  miles  away,  the  great  ice-stream  that  has  since, 
and  for  many  years  now,  been  named  by  local  usage  "Winthrop  Glacier." 
Immediately  west  of  it  is  Carbon  Glacier,  lying  deep  in  its  cirque.  On 
the  east  is  White  or  "Emmons"  Glacier,  feeding  the  East,  or  main,  fork 
of  White  River,  the  vast  canyon  of  which  yawned  below  as  our  author 
looked  across  the  soHdly  forested  ridges  to  the  dominating  white  heights. 
Winthrop's  viewpoint  was  at  the  same  angle,  though  lower,  than  that 
from  which,  just  sixty  years  later,  Mr.  Linsley  obtained  his  splendid 
photographs,  reproduced  among  the  illustrations  of  this  volume. 


But  if  the  giant  fires  had  ever  burned  under  that  cold 
summit,  they  had  long  since  gone  out.  The  dome  that 
swelled  up  passionately  had  crusted  over  and  then  fallen 
in  upon  itself,  not  vigorous  enough  with  internal  life  to 
bear  up  in  smooth  proportion.  Where  it  broke  into  ruin 
was  no  doubt  a  desolate  waste,  stern,  craggy,  and  riven, 
but  such  drear  results  of  Titanic  convulsion  the  gentle 
snows  hid  from  view. 

No  foot  of  man  had  ever  trampled  those  pure  snows. 
It  was  a  virginal  mountain,  distant  from  the  possibility 
of  human  approach  and  human  inquisitiveness  as  a  marble 
goddess  is  from  human  loves.  Yet  there  was  nothing  un- 
sympathetic in  its  isolation,  or  despotic  in  its  distant  majesty. 
But  this  serene  loftiness  was  no  home  for  any  deity  of  those 
that  men  create.  Only  the  thought  of  eternal  peace  arose 
from  this  heaven-upbearing  monument  like  incense,  and, 
overflowing,  filled  the  world  with  deep  and  holy  calm. 

Wherever  the  mountain  turned  its  cheek  toward  the 
sun,  many  fair  and  smiling  dimples  appeared,  and  along 
soft  curves  of  snow,  lines  of  shadow  drew  tracery,  fair  as 
the  blue  veins  on  a  child's  temple.  Without  the  infinite 
sweetness  and  charm  of  this  kindly  changefulness  of  form 
and  color,  there  might  have  been  oppressive  awe  in  the 
presence  of  this  transcendent  glory  against  the  solemn  blue 
of  noon.  Grace  played  over  the  surface  of  majesty,  as  a 
drift  of  rose-leaves  wavers  in  the  air  before  a  summer 
shower,  or  as  a  wreath  of  rosy  mist  flits  before  the  grandeur 
of  a  storm.  Loveliness  was  sprinkled  like  a  boon  of  blos- 
soms upon  sublimity. 

Our  lives  forever  demand  and  need  visual  images  that 
can  be  symbols  to  us  of  the  grandeur  or  the  sweetness  of 
repose.  There  are  some  faces  that  arise  dreamy  in  our 
memories,  and  look  us  into  calmness  in  our  frantic  moods. 
Fair  and  happy  is  a  life  that  need  not  call  upon  its  vague 
memorial  dreams  for  such  attuning  influence,  but  can  turn 
to  a  present  reality,  and  ask  tranquillity  at  the  shrine  of 

()\  ElilA)()KlS(.    -NACIIES    PASS. 
View  southeast  from  Pyramid  Peak,  siiowing  the  Naches  Canyon  and  Valley 
stretching  away  to  the  great  Yakima  Valley. 


View  south  from  Pyramid  Peak,  a  tiiousand  feet  above  tiie  Pass  and  six  tliousand 
above  sea  level.     Three  miles  away,  near  the  center  of  the  Pass, 
are   seen    the    glacial    meadows   described    by    Winthrop. 

TACOMA.  103 

a  household  goddess.  The  noble  works  of  nature,  and 
mountains  most  of  all, 

"have  power  to  make 
Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being 
Of  the  eternal  silence." 

And,  studying  the  light  and  the  majesty  of  Tacoma,  there 
passed  from  it  and  entered  into  my  being,  to  dwell  there 
evermore  by  the  side  of  many  such,  a  thought  and  an  image 
of  solemn  beauty,  which  I  could  thenceforth  evoke  when- 
ever in  the  world  I  must  have  peace  or  die.  For  such  emo- 
tion years  of  pilgrimage  were  worthily  spent.  If  mortal  can 
gain  the  thoughts  of  immortality,  is  not  his  earthly  destiny 
achieved?  For,  when  we  have  so  studied  the  visible  poem, 
and  so  fixed  it  deep  in  the  very  substance  of  our  minds, 
there  is  forever  with  us  not  merely  a  perpetual  possession 
of  delight,  but  a  watchful  monitor  that  will  not  let  our 
thoughts  be  long  unfit  for  the  pure  companionship  of  beauty. 
For  whenever  a  man  is  false  to  the  light  that  is  in  him,  and 
accepts  meaner  joys,  or  chooses  the  easy  indulgence  that 
meaner  passions  give,  then  every  fair  landscape  in  all  his 
horizon  dims,  and  all  its  grandeurs  fade  and  dwindle  away, 
the  glory  vanishes,  and  he  looks,  like  one  lost,  upon  his  world, 
late  so  lovely  and  sinless. 

While  I  was  studying  Tacoma,  and  learning  its  fine 
lesson,  it  in  turn  might  contemplate  its  own  image  far  away 
on  the  waters  of  Whulge,  where  streams  from  its  own 
snows,  gushing  seaward  to  buffet  in  the  boundless  deep, 
might  rejoice  in  a  last  look  at  their  parent  ere  they  swept 
out  of  Puyallop  Bay.  Other  large  privilege  of  view  it  had. 
It  could  see  what  I  could  not, — Tacoma  the  Less,  Mt. 
Adams,  meritorious  but  clumsy;  it  could  reflect  sunbeams 
gracefully  across  a  breadth  of  forest  to  St.  Helens,  the  vestal 
virgin,  who  still  kept  her  flame  kindled,  and  proved  her 
watchfulness  ever  and  anon.  Continuing  its  panoramic 
studies,  Tacoma  could  trace  the  chasm  of  the  Columbia 
by  silver  circles  here  and  there, — could  see  every  peak, 


chimney,  or  unopened  vent,  from  Kulshan  to  Shasta  Butte. 
The  Blue  Mountains  eastward  were  within  its  scope,  and 
westward  the  faint-blue  levels  of  the  Pacific.  Another 
region,  worthy  of  any  mountain's  beholding,  Tacoma  sees, 
somewhat  vague  and  dim  m  distance:  it  sees  the  sweet 
Arcadian  valley  of  the  Willamette,  charming  with  meadow, 
park,  and  grove.  In  no  older  world  where  men  have,  in 
all  their  happiest  moods,  recreated  themselves  for  generations 
in  taming  earth  to  orderly  beauty,  have  they  achieved  a 
fau'er  garden  than  Nature's  simple  labor  of  love  has  made 
there,  giving  to  rough  pioneers  the  blessings  and  the  possible 
education  of  refined  and  finished  landscape,  in  the  presence 
of  landscape  strong,  savage,  and  m.ajestic. 

All  this  Tacom-a  beholds,  as  I  can  but  briefly  hint;  and 
as  one  who  is  a  seer  himself  becomes  a  tower  of  light  and 
illumination  to  the  world,  so  Tacoma,  so  every  brother  seer 
of  his  among  the  lofty  snow-peaks,  stands  to  educate,  by  his 
inevitable  presence,  every  dweller  thereabouts.  Our  race 
has  never  yet  come  into  contact  with  great  mountains  as 
companions  of  daily  life,  nor  felt  that  daily  development  of 
the  finer  and  more  comprehensive  senses  which  these  signal 
facts  of  nature  compel.  That  is  an  influence  of  the  future. 
The  Oregon  people,  in  a  climate  where  being  is  bliss, — where 
every  breath  is  a  draught  of  vivid  life, — these  Oregon  people, 
carrying  to  a  new  and  grander  New  England  of  the  West  a 
fuller  growth  of  the  American  Idea,  under  whose  teaching 
the  man  of  lowest  ambitions  must  still  have  some  little  in- 
desti-uctible  respect  for  himself,  and  the  brute  of  most 
tyrannical  aspirations  some  little  respect  for  others;  carry- 
ing there  a  religion  two  centuries  farther  on  than  the  crude 
and  cruel  Hebraism  of  the  Puritans;  carrying  the  civilization 
of  history  where  it  will  not  suffer  by  the  example  of  Europe, — 
with  such  material,  that  Western  society,  when  it  crystallizes, 
will  elaborate  new  systems  of  thought  and  life.  It  is  un- 
philosophical  to  suppose  that  a  strong  race,   developing 



under  the  best,  largest,  and  calmest  conditions  of  nature, 
will  not  achieve  a  destiny. 

Up  to  Tacoma,  or  into  some  such  solitude  of  nature, 
imaginative  men  must  go,  as  Moses  went  up  to  Sinai,  that 
the  divine  afflatus  may  stir  within  them.  The  siwashes 
appreciate,  according  to  their  capacity,  the  inspiration  of 
lonely  grandeur,  and  go  upon  the  mountains,  starving  and 
alone,  that  they  may  become  seers,  enchanters,  magicians,  di- 
viners, —  what  in  conventional  lingo  is 
called  "big  medicine."  For  though  the 
Indians  here  have  not  peopled  these 
thrones  of  their  world  with  the  creatures 
of  an  anthropomorphic  mythology,  they 
yet  deem  them  the  abode  of  Tamanoiis. 
Tamanoiis  is  a  vague  and  half -personified 
type  of  the  unknown,  of  the  mysterious 
forces  of  nature;  and  there  is  also  an  in- 
definite multitude  of  undefined  emana- 
tions, each  one  a  tamanoiis  with  a  small 
t,  which  are  busy  and  impish  in  com- 
plicating existence,  or  equally  active  and 
spritely  in  unravelling  it.  Each  Indian  of 
this  region  patronizes  his  own  personal 
tamanoiis,  as  men  of  the  more  eastern 
tribes  keep  a  private  manito,  and  as  Soc- 
rates kept  a  daimon.  To  supply  this  want, 
Tamanoiis  with  a  big  T  undergoes  an  ava- 
tar, and  incarnates  himself  into  a  salmon,  a  beaver,  a  clam, 
or  into  some  inanimate  object,  such  as  a  canoe,  a  paddle, 
a  fir-tree,  a  flint,  or  into  some  elemental  essence,  as  fire, 
water,  sun,  mist;  and  tamanoiis  thus  individualized  becomes 
the  "guide,  philosopher,  and  friend"  of  every  siwash,  con- 
scious that  otherwise  he  might  stray  and  be  lost  in  the 
unknown  realms  of  Tamanoiis. 

Hamitchou,  a  frowzy  ancient  of  the  Squallyamish,  told 

Carved  Stone  Image 
from  the  lowor  Co- 
lumbia Valley. 


to  Dr.  Tolmie  and  me,  at  Nisqually,  a  legend  of  Tamanous 
and  Tacoma,  which,  being  interpreted,  runs  as  follows: — 


"Avarice,  0  Boston  tyee,"  quoth  Hamitchou,  studying 
me  with  dusky  eyes,  "is  a  mighty  passion.  Now,  be  it 
known  unto  thee  that  we  Indians  anciently  used  not  metals 
nor  the  money  of  you  blanketeers.  Our  circulating  medium 
was  shells, —  wampum  you  would  name  it.  Of  all  wampum, 
the  most  precious  is  Hiaqua.  Hiaqua  comes  from  the  far 
north.  It  is  a  small,  perforated  shell,  not  unlike  a  very 
opaque  quill  toothpick,  tapering  from  the  middle,  and  cut 
square  at  both  ends.  We  string  it  in  many  strands,  and  hang 
it  around  the  neck  of  one  we  love, —  namely,  each  man  his 
own  neck.  We  also  buy  with  it  what  our  hearts  desire. 
He  who  has  most  hiaqua  is  best  and  wisest  and  happiest 
of  all  the  northern  Haida  and  of  all  the  people  of  Whulge. 
The  mountain  horsemen  value  it;  and  braves  of  the  terrible 
Blackfeet  have  been  known,  in  the  good  old  days,  to  come 
over  and  offer  a  horse  or  a  wife  for  a  bunch  of  fifty  hiaqua. 

"Now,  once  upon  a  time  there  dwelt  where  this  fort  of 
Nisqually  now  stands  a  wise  old  man  of  the  Squallyamish. 
He  was  a  great  fisherman  and  a  great  hunter;  and  the  wiser 
he  grew,  much  the  wiser  he  thought  himself.  When  he 
had  grown  very  wise,  he  used  to  stay  apart  from  every 
other  siwash.  Companionable  salmon-boilings  round  a 
common  pot  had  no  charms  for  him.  'Feasting  was  waste- 
ful,' he  said,  'and  revellers  would  come  to  want.'  And  when 
they  verified  his  prophecy,  and  were  full  of  hunger  and  empty 
of  salmon,  he  came  out  of  his  hermitage,  and  had  salmon 
to  sell. 

"Hiaqua  was  the  pay  he  always  demanded;  and  as  he 
was  a  very  wise  old  man,  and  knew  all  the  tideways  of 
Whulge,  and  all  the  enticing  ripples  and  placid  spots  of 
repose  in  every  river  where  fish  might  dash  or  delay,  he 

TACOMA.  107 

was  sure  to  have  salmon  when  others  wanted,  and  thus 
bagged  largely  of  its  precious  equivalent,  hiaqua. 

"Not  only  a  mighty  fisher  was  the  sage,  but  a  mighty 
hunter;  and  elk,  the  greatest  animal  of  the  woods,  was  the 
game  he  loved.  Well  had  he  studied  every  trail  where 
elk  leave  the  print  of  their  hoofs,  and  where,  tossing  their 
heads,  they  bend  the  tender  t\vigs.  Well  had  he  searched 
through  the  broad  forest,  and  found  the  long-haired  prairies 
where  elk  feed  luxuriously;  and  there,  from  behind  palisade 
fir-trees,  he  had  launched  the  fatal  arrow.  Sometimes,  also, 
he  lay  beside  a  pool  of  sweetest  water,  revealed  to  him  by 
gemmy  reflections  of  sunshine  gleaming  through  the  woods, 
until  at  noon  the  elk  came  down,  to  find  death  awaiting 
him  as  he  stooped  and  drank.  Or  beside  the  same  fountain 
the  old  man  watched  at  night,  drowsily  starting  at  every 
crackling  branch,  until,  when  the  moon  was  high,  and  her 
illumination  declared  the  pearly  water,  elk  dashed  forth 
incautious  into  the  glade,  and  met  their  midnight  destiny. 

"Elk-meat,  too,  he  sold  to  his  tribe.  This  brought  him 
pelf,  but,  alas  for  his  greed,  the  pelf  came  slowly.  Waters 
and  woods  were  rich  in  game.  All  the  Squallyamish  were 
hunters  and  fishers,  though  none  so  skilled  as  he.  They 
were  rarely  in  absolute  want,  and,  when  they  came  to  him 
for  supplies,  they  were  far  too  poor  in  hiaqua. 

"So  the  old  man  thought  deeply,  and  communed  with 
his  wisdom,  and,  while  he  waited  for  fish  or  beast,  he  took 
advice  within  himself  from  his  demon, —  he  talked  with 
Tamanotis.  And  always  the  question  was,  'How  may  I 
put  hiaqua  in  my  purse?' 

"Tamanoiis  never  revealed  to  him  that  far  to  the  north, 
beyond  the  waters  of  Whulge,  are  tribes  with  their  under 
lip  pierced  with  a  fishbone,  among  whom  hiaqua  is  plenty 
as  salmon-berries  are  in  the  woods  what  time  in  mid-summer 
salmon  fin  it  along  the  reaches  of  Whulge. 

"But  the  more  Tamanoiis  did  not  reveal  to  him  these 
mysteries  of  nature,  the  more  he  kept  dreamily  prying  into 


his  own  mind,  endeavoring  to  devise  some  scheme  by  which 
he  might  discover  a  treasure-trove  of  the  beloved  shell. 
His  life  seemed  wasted  in  the  patient,  frugal  industry, 
which  only  brought  slow,  meagre  gains.  He  wanted  the 
splendid  elation  of  vast  wealth  and  the  excitement  of  sud- 
den wealth.  His  own  peculiar  tamanoiis  was  the  elk.  Elk 
was  also  his  totem,  the  cognizance  of  his  freemasonrj'-  with 
those  of  his  own  family,  and  their  family  friends  in  other 
tribes.  Elk,  therefore,  were  every  way  identified  with  his 
life;  and  he  hunted  them  farther  and  farther  up  through 
the  forests  on  the  flanks  of  Tacoma,  hoping  that  some  day 

Eiaqua,  the  Wampum,  or  Shell  Money,  of  the  Northwest  Tribes. 

his  tamanoiis  would  speak  in  the  dying  groan  of  one  of  them, 
and  gasp  out  the  secret  of  the  mines  of  hiaqua,  his  heart's 

"Tacoma  was  so  white  and  glittering,  that  it  seemed  to 
stare  at  him  very  terribly  and  mockingly,  and  to  know  his 
shameful  avarice,  and  how  it  led  him  to  take  from  starving 
women  their  cherished  lip  and  nose  jewels  of  hiaqua,  and  to 
give  them  in  return  only  tough  scraps  of  dried  elk-meat  and 
salmon.  When  men  are  shabby,  mean,  and  grasping,  they 
feel  reproached  for  their  grovelling  lives  by  the  unearthliness 
of  nature's  beautiful  objects,  and  they  hate  flowers,  and 
sunsets,  mountains,  and  the  quiet  stars  of  heaven. 

"Nevertheless,"  continued  Hamitchou,   "this  wise  old 

TACOMA.  109 

fool  of  my  legend  went  on  stalking  elk  along  the  sides  of 
Tacoma,  ever  dreaming  of  wealth.  And  at  last,  as  he  was 
hunting  near  the  snows  one  day,  one  very  clear  and  beauti- 
ful day  of  late  summer,  when  sunlight  was  magically  dis- 
closing far  distances,  and  making  all  nature  supernaturally 
visible  and  proximate,  Tamanoiis  began  to  work  in  the  soul 
of  the  miser. 

"  'Are  you  brave,'  whispered  Tamanoiis  in  the  strange, 
ringing,  dull,  silent  thunder-tones  of  a  demon  voice.  'Dare 
you  go  to  the  caves  where  my  treasures  are  hid?' 

"  'I  dare,'  said  the  miser. 

"He  did  not  know  that  his  lips  had  syllabled  a  reply. 
He  did  not  even  hear  his  own  words.  But  all  the  place 
had  become  suddenly  vocal  with  echoes.  The  great  rock 
against  which  he  leaned  crashed  forth,  'I  dare.'  Then  all 
along  through  the  forest,  dashing  from  tree  to  tree  and  lost 
at  last  among  the  murmuring  of  breeze-shaken  leaves, 
went  careering  his  answer,  taken  up  and  repeated  scornfully, 
'I  dare.'  And  after  a  silence,  while  the  daring  one  trembled 
and  would  gladly  have  ventured  to  shout,  for  the  companion- 
ship of  his  own  voice,  there  came  across  from  the  vast  snow 
wall  of  Tacoma  a  tone  like  the  muffled,  threatening  plunge 
of  an  avalanche  into  a  chasm,  'I  dare.' 

"  'You  dare,'  said  Tamanoiis,  enveloping  him  with  a 
dread  sense  of  an  unseen,  supernatural  presence;  'you  pray 
for  wealth  of  hiaqua.     Listen!' 

"This  injunction  was  hardly  needed;  the  miser  was 
listening  with  dull  eyes  kindled  and  starting.  He  was 
listening  with  every  rusty  hair  separating  from  its  unkempt- 
mattedness,  and  outstanding  upright,  a  caricature  of  an 

"  'Listen,'  said  Tamanoiis,  in  the  noonday  hush.  And 
then  Tamanoiis  vouchsafed  at  last  the  great  secret  of  the 
hiaqua  mines,  while  in  terror  near  to  death  the  miser  heard, 
and  every  word  of  guidance  toward  the  hidden  treasure 
of  the  mountains  seared  itself  into  his  soul  ineffaceably. 


"Silence  came  again  more  terrible  now  than  the  voice 
of  Tamanoiis, —  silence  under  the  shadow  of  the  great 
cliff, —  silence  deepening  down  the  forest  vistas, —  silence 
filling  the  void  up  to  the  snows  of  Tacoma.  All  life 
and  motion  seemed  paralyzed.  At  last  Skai-ki,  the  Blue- 
Jay,  the  wise  bird,  foe  to  magic,  sang  cheerily  over- 
head. Her  song  seemed  to  refresh  again  the  honest  laws  of 
nature.  The  buzz  of  life  stirred  everywhere  again,  and  the 
inspired  miser  rose  and  hastened  home  to  prepare  for  his 

"When  Tamanoiis  has  put  a  great  thought  in  a  man's 
brain,  has  whispered  him  a  great  discovery  within  his  power, 
or  hinted  at  a  great  crime,  that  spiteful  demon  does  not 
likewise  suggest  the  means  of  accomplishment. 

"The  miser,  therefore,  must  call  upon  his  own  skill  to 
devise  proper  tools,  and  upon  his  own  judgment  to  fix 
upon  the  most  fitting  time  for  carrying  out  his  quest.  Send- 
ing his  squaw  out  to  the  prairie,  under  pretense  that 
now  was  the  season  for  her  to  gather  their  winter  store 
of  that  sickish-sweet  esculent  root,  and  that  she  might  not 
have  her  squaw's  curiosity  aroused  by  seeing  him  at  strange 
work,  he  began  his  preparations.  He  took  a  pair  of  enor- 
mous elk-horns,  and  fashioned  from  each  horn  a  two-pronged 
pick  or  spade,  by  removing  all  the  antlers  except  the  two 
topmost.  He  packed  a  good  supply  of  kippered  salmon, 
and  filled  his  pouch  with  kinni-kinnick  for  smoking  in  his 
black  stone  pipe.  With  his  bow  and  arrows  and  his  tv/o 
elk-horn  picks  wrapped  in  buckskin  hung  at  his  back,  he 
started  just  before  sunset,  as  if  for  a  long  hunt.  His  old, 
faithful,  maltreated,  blanketless,  vermilionless  squaw,  re- 
turning with  baskets  full  of  kamas,  saw  him  disappearing 
moodily  down  the  trail. 

"All  that  night,  all  the  day  following,  he  moved  on 
noiselessly  by  paths  he  knew.  He  hastened  on,  unnoticing 
outward  objects,  as  one  with  a  controlling  purpose  hastens. 
Elk  and  deer,  bounding  through  the  trees,  passed  him,  but 

the  distance,  on  the  north  side  of  the  Pass,  is  seen  Pyramid  Peak. 


he  tarried  not.  At  night  he  camped  just  below  the  snows 
of  Tacoma.  He  was  weary,  weary,  and  chill  night-airs 
blowing  down  from  the  summit  almost  froze  him.  He  dared 
not  take  his  fire-sticks,  and,  placing  one  perpendicular  upon 
a  little  hollow  on  the  flat  side  of  the  other,  twirl  the  upright 
stick  rapidly  between  his  palms  until  the  charred  spot 
kindled  and  lighted  his  'tipsoo,'  his  dry,  tindery  wool  of 
inner  bark.  A  fire,  gleaming  high  upon  the  mountain-side, 
might  be  a  beacon  to  draw  thither  any  night-wandering 
savage  to  watch  in  ambush,  and  learn  the  path  toward  the 
mines  of  hiaqua.  So  he  drowsed  chilly  and  fireless,  awakened 
often  by  dread  sounds  of  crashing  and  rumbling  among 
the  chasms  of  Tacoma.  He  desponded  bitterly,  almost 
ready  to  abandon  his  quest,  almost  doubting  whether  he 
had  in  truth  received  a  revelation,  whether  his  interview 
with  Tamanoiis  had  not  been  a  dream,  and  finally  whether 
all  the  hiaqua  in  the  world  was  worth  this  toil  and  anxiety. 
Fortunate  is  the  sage  who  at  such  a  point  turns  back  and 
buys  his  experience  without  worse  befalling  him. 

"Past  midnight  he  suddenly  was  startled  from  his 
drowse,  and  sat  bolt  upright  in  terror.  A  light!  Was  there 
another  searcher  in  the  forest,  and  a  bolder  than  he?  That 
flame  just  glimmering  over  the  tree-tops,  was  it  a  camp-fire 
of  friend  or  foe?  Had  Tamanoiis  been  revealing  to  another 
the  great  secret?  No,  smiled  the  miser,  his  eyes  fairly 
open,  and  discovering  that  the  new  light  was  the  moon. 
He  had  been  waiting  for  her  illumination  on  paths  hereto- 
fore untrodden  by  mortal.  She  did  not  show  her  full,  round, 
jolly  face,  but  turned  it  askance  as  if  she  hardly  liked  to 
be  implicated  in  this  night's  transactions. 

"However,  it  was  light  he  wanted,  not  sympathy,  and 
he  started  up  at  once  to  climb  over  the  dim  snows.  The 
surface  was  packed  by  the  night's  frost,  and  his  moccasins 
gave  him  firm  hold;  yet  he  travelled  but  slowly,  and  could 
not  always  save  himself  from  a  glissade  backwards,  and  a 
bruise  upon  some  projecting  knob  or  crag.     Sometimes, 


upright  fronts  of  ice  diverted  him  for  long  circuits,  or  a 
broken  wall  of  cold  cliff  arose,  which  he  must  surmount 
painfully.  Once  or  twice  he  stuck  fast  in  a  crevice,  and  hardly 
drew  himself  out  by  placing  his  bundle  of  picks  across  the 
crack.  As  he  plodded  and  floundered  thus  deviously  and 
toilsomely  upward,  at  last  the  wasted  moon  gan  pale  over- 
head, and  under  foot  the  snow  grew  rosy  with  coming 
dawn.  The  dim  world  about  the  mountain's  base  displayed 
something  of  its  vast  detail.  He  could  see,  more  positively 
than  by  moonlight,  the  far-reaching  arteries  of  mist  marking 
the  organism  of  Whulge  beneath;  and  what  had  been  but  a 
black  chaos  now  resolved  itself  into  the  Alpine  forest  whence 
he  had  come. 

"But  he  troubled  himself  little  with  staring  about; 
up  he  looked,  for  the  summit  was  at  hand.  To  win  that 
summit  was  wellnigh  the  attainment  of  his  hopes,  if  Tama- 
noiis  were  true;  and  that,  with  the  flush  of  morning  ardor 
upon  him,  he  could  not  doubt.  There,  in  a  spot  Tama- 
noiis  had  revealed  to  him,  was  hiaqua, —  hiaqua  that  should 
make  him  the  richest  and  greatest  of  all  the  Squallyamish. 

"The  chill  before  sunrise  was  upon  him  as  he  reached  the 
last  curve  of  the  dome.  Sunrise  and  he  struck  the  summit 
together.  Together  sunrise  and  he  looked  over  the  glacis. 
They  saw  within  a  great  hollow  all  covered  with  the  whitest 
of  snow,  save  at  the  centre,  where  a  black  lake  lay  deep 
in  a  well  of  purple  rock. 

"At  the  eastern  end  of  this  lake  was  a  small,  irregular 
plain  of  snow,  marked  by  three  stones  like  monuments. 
Toward  these  the  miser  sprang  rapidly,  with  full  sunshine 
streaming  after  him  over  the  snows. 

"The  first  monument  he  examined  with  keen  looks. 
It  was  tall  as  a  giant  man,  and  its  top  was  fashioned  into 
the  grotesque  likeness  of  a  salmon's  head.  He  turned 
from  this  to  inspect  the  second.  It  was  of  similar  height, 
but  bore  at  its  apex  an  object  in  shape  like  the  regular 
flame  of  a  torch.    As  he  approached,  he  presently  discovered 

TACOMA.  113 

that  this  was  an  image  of  the  kamas-bulb  in  stone.  These 
two  semblances  of  prime  necessities  of  Indian  life  delayed 
him  but  an  instant,  and  he  hastened  on  to  the  third  mon- 
ument, which  stood  apart  on  a  perfect  level.  The  third 
stone  was  capped  by  something  he  almost  feared  to  behold, 
lest  it  should  prove  other  than  his  hopes.  Every  word  of 
Tamanoiis  had  thus  far  proved  veritable;  but  might  there 
not  be  a  bitter  deceit  at  the  last?    The  miser  trembled. 

"Yes,  Tamanoiis  was  trustworthy.  The  third  monu- 
ment was  as  the  old  man  anticipated.  Tt  was  a  stone  elk's- 
head,  such  as  it  appears  in  earliest  summer,  when  the  antlers 
are  sprouting  lustily  under  their  rough  jacket  of  velvet. 

"You  remember,  Boston  tyee,"  continued  Hamitchou, 
"that  Elk  was  the  old  man's  tamanoiis,  the  incarnation  for 
him  of  the  universal  Tamanoiis.  He  therefore  was  right 
joyous  at  this  good  omen  of  protection;  and  his  heart  grew 
big  and  swollen  with  hope,  as  the  black  salmon-berry  swells 
in  a  swamp  in  June.  He  threw  down  his  Mkta';  every  impedi- 
ment he  laid  down  upon  the  snow;  and,  unwrapping  his 
two  picks  of  elk-horn,  he  took  the  stoutest,  and  began  to 
dig  in  the  frozen  snow  at  the  foot  of  the  elk-head  monument. 

"No  sooner  had  he  struck  the  first  blow  than  he  heard 
behind  him  a  sudden  puff,  such  as  a  seal  makes  when  it 
comes  to  the  surface  to  breathe.  Turning  round  much 
startled,  he  saw  a  huge  otter  just  clambering  up  over  the 
edge  of  the  lake.  The  otter  paused,  and  struck  on  the  snow 
with  his  tail,  whereupon  another  otter  and  another  appeared, 
until,  following  their  leader  in  slow  and  solemn  file,  were 
twelve  other  otters,  marching  toward  the  miser.  The 
twelve  approached,  and  drew  up  in  a  circle  around  him. 
Each  was  twice  as  large  as  any  otter  ever  seen.  Their 
chief  was  four  times  as  large  as  the  most  gigantic  otter 
ever  seen  in  the  regions  of  Whulge,  and  certainly  was  as 
great  as  a  seal.  When  the  twelve  were  arranged,  their 
leader  skipped  to  the  top  of  the  elk-head  stone,  and  sat 


there  between  the  horns.  Then  the  whole  thirteen  gave  a 
mighty  puff  in  chorus. 

"The  hunter  of  hiaqua  was  for  a  moment  abashed  at 
his  uninvited  ring  of  spectators.  But  he  had  seen  otter 
before,  and  bagged  them.  These  he  could  not  waste  time 
to  shoot,  even  if  a  phalanx  so  numerous  were  not  formidable. 
Besides,  they  might  be  tamanotis.  He  took  to  his  pick, 
and  began  digging  stoutly. 

"He  soon  made  way  in  the  snow,  and  came  to  solid 
rock  beneath.  At  every  thirteenth  stroke  of  his  pick,  the 
fugleman  otter  tapped  with  his  tail  on  the  monument. 
Then  the  choir  of  lesser  otters  tapped  together  with  theirs 
on  the  snow.  This  caudal  action  produced  a  dull,  muffled 
sound,  as  if  there  were  a  vast  hollow  below. 

"Digging  with  all  his  force,  by  and  by  the  seeker  for 
treasure  began  to  tire,  and  laid  down  his  elk-horn  spade 
to  wipe  the  sweat  from  his  brow.  Straightway  the  fugle- 
man otter  turned,  and,  swinging  his  tail,  gave  the  weary 
man  a  mighty  thump  on  the  shoulder;  and  the  whole  band, 
imitating,  turned,  and,  backing  inward,  smote  him  with 
centripetal  tails,  until  he  resumed  his  labors,  much  bruised. 

"The  rock  lay  first  in  plates,  then  in  scales.  These  it 
was  easy  to  remove.  Presently,  however,  as  the  miser 
pried  carelessly  at  a  larger  mass,  he  broke  his  elk-horn  tool. 
Fugleman  otter  leaped  down,  and,  seizing  the  supplemental 
pick  between  his  teeth,  mouthed  it  over  to  the  digger.  Then 
the  amphibious  monster  took  in  the  same  manner  the  broken 
pick,  and  bore  it  round  the  circle  of  his  suite,  who  inspected 
it  gravely  with  puffs. 

"These  strange,  magical  proceedings  disconcerted  and 
somewhat  baffled  the  miser;  but  he  plucked  up  heart,  for 
the  prize  was  priceless,  and  worked  on  more  cautiously 
with  his  second  pick.  At  last  its  blows  and  the  regular 
thumps  of  the  otters'  tails  called  forth  a  sound  hollower 
and  hollower.     His  circle  of  spectators  narrowed  so  that 

TACOMA.  115 

he  could  feel  their  panting  breath  as  they  bent  curiously 
over  the  little  pit  he  had  dug. 

"The  crisis  was  evidently  at  hand. 

"He  lifted  each  scale  of  rock  more  delicately.  Finally 
he  raised  a  scale  so  thin  that  it  cracked  into  flakes  as  he 
turned  it  over.    Beneath  was  a  large  square  cavity. 

"It  was  filled  to  the  brim  with  hiaqua. 

"He  was  a  millionaire. 

"The  otters  recognized  him  as  the  favorite  of  Tamanoiis, 
and  retired  to  a  respectful  distance. 

"For  some  moments  he  gazed  on  his  treasure,  taking 
thought  of  his  future  proud  grandeur  among  the  dwellers 
by  Whulge.  He  plunged  his  arm  deep  as  he  could  go; 
there  was  still  nothing  but  the  precious  shells.  He  smiled 
to  himself  in  triumph;  he  had  wrung  the  secret  from  Tama- 
noiis. Then,  as  he  withdrew  his  arm,  the  rattle  of  the  hiaqua 
recalled  him  to  the  present.  He  saw  that  noon  was  long 
past,  and  he  must  proceed  to  reduce  his  property  to  possession. 

"The  hiaqua  was  strung  upon  long,  stout  sinews  of  elk, 
in  bunches  of  fifty  shells  on  each  side.  Four  of  these  he 
wound  about  his  waist;  three  he  hung  across  each  shoulder; 
five  he  took  in  each  hand; — twenty  strings  of  pure  white 
hiaqua,  every  shell  large,  smooth,  unbroken,  beautiful. 
He  could  carry  no  more;  hardly  even  with  this  could  he 
stagger  along.  He  put  down  his  burden  for  a  moment, 
while  he  covered  up  the  seemingly  untouched  wealth  of 
the  deposit  carefully  with  the  scale  stones,  and  brushed 
snow  over  the  whole. 

"The  miser  never  dreamed  of  gratitude,  never  thought 
to  hang  a  string  from  the  buried  treasure  about  the  salmon 
and  kamas  tamanoiis  stones,  and  two  strings  around  the 
elk's  head;  no,  all  must  be  his  own,  all  he  could  carry  now, 
and  the  rest  for  the  future. 

"He  turned,  and  began  his  climb  toward  the  crater's 
edge.  At  once  the  otters,  with  a  mighty  puff  in  concert, 
took  up  their  line  of  procession,  and,  plunging  into  the 


black  lake,    began    to   beat    the  water   with   theu-   tails. 

"The  miser  could  hear  the  sound  of  splashing  water 
as  he  struggled  upward  through  the  snow,  now  melting  and 
yielding.  It  was  a  long  hour  of  harsh  toil  and  much  back- 
sliding before  he  reached  the  rim,  and  turned  to  take  one 
more  view  of  this  valley  of  good  fortune. 

"As  he  looked,  a  thick  mist  began  to  rise  from  the  lake 
centre,  where  the  otters  were  splashing.  Under  the  mist 
grew  a  cylinder  of  black  cloud,  utterly  hiding  the  water. 

"Terrible  are  storms  in  the  mountains;  but  in  this 
looming  mass  was  a  terror  more  dread  than  any  hurricane 
of  ruin  ever  bore  within  its  wild  vortexes.  Tamanoiis  was 
in  that  black  cylinder,  and  as  it  strode  forward,  chasing 
in  the  very  path  of  the  miser,  he  shuddered,  for  his  wealth 
and  his  life  were  in  danger. 

"However,  it  might  be  but  a  common  storm.  Sunlight 
was  bright  as  ever  overhead  in  heaven,  and  all  the  lovely 
world  below  lay  dreamily  fair,  in  that  afternoon  of  summer, 
at  the  feet  of  the  rich  man,  who  now  was  hastening  to  be 
its  king.  He  stepped  from  the  crater  edge  and  began  his 

"Instantly  the  storm  overtook  him.  He  was  thrown 
down  by  its  first  assault,  flung  over  a  rough  bank  of  iciness, 
and  lay  at  the  foot  torn  and  bleeding,  but  clinging  still  to 
his  precious  burden.  Each  hand  still  held  its  five  strings  of 
hiaqua.  In  each  hand  he  bore  a  nation's  ransom.  He 
staggered  to  his  feet  against  the  blast.  Utter  night  was 
around  him, —  night  as  if  daylight  had  forever  perished, 
had  never  come  into  being  from  chaos.  The  roaring  of  the 
storm  had  also  deafened  and  bewildered  him  with  its  wild 

"Present  in  every  crash  and  thunder  of  the  gale  was  a 
growing  undertone,  which  the  miser  well  knew  to  be  the 
voice  of  Tamanoiis.  A  deadly  shuddering  shook  him.  Here- 
tofore that  potent  Unseen  had  been  his  friend  and  guide; 
there  had  been  awe,  but  no  terror,  in  his  words.     Now 

TACOMA.  117 

the  voice  of  Tatnanoiis  was  inarticulate,  but  the  miser 
could  divine  in  that  sound  an  unspeakable  threat  of  WTath 
and  vengeance.  Floating  upon  this  undertone  were  sharper 
tamanoiis  voices,  shouting  and  screaming  always  sneeringly, 
'Ha  ha,  hiaqua! — ha,  ha,  ha!' 

"Whenever  the  miser  essayed  to  move  and  continue 
his  descent,  a  whirlwind  caught  him,  and  with  much  ado 
tossed  him  hither  and  thither,  leaving  him  at  last  flung 
and  imprisoned  in  a  pinching  crevice,  or  buried  to  the  eyes 
in  a  snow-drift,  or  bedded  upside  down  on  a  shaggy  boulder, 
or  gnawed  by  lacerating  lava  jaws.  Sharp  torture  the  old 
man  was  encountering,  but  he  held  fast  to  his  hiaqua. 

"The  blackness  grew  ever  deeper  and  more  crowded 
with  perdition;  the  din  more  impish,  demoniac,  and  devilish; 
the  laughter  more  appalling;  and  the  miser  more  and  more 
exhausted  with  vain  buffeting.  He  determined  to  propitiate 
exasperated  Tamanoiis  with  a  sacrifice.  He  threw  into  the 
black  cylinder  storm  his  left-handful,  five  strings  of  precious 

"Somewhat  long-winded  is  thy  legend,  Hamitchou, 
Great  Medicine  Man  of  the  Squallyamish,"  quoth  I.  "Why 
didn't  the  old  fool  drop  his  wampum, —  shell  out,  as  one 
might  say, —  and  make  tracks?" 

"Well,  well!"  continued  Hamitchou;  "when  the  miser 
had  thrown  away  his  first  handful  of  hiaqua,  there  was  a 
momentary  lull  in  elemental  war,  and  he  heard  the  otters 
puffing  around  him  invisible.  Then  the  storm  renewed, 
blacker,  louder,  harsher,  crueller  than  before,  and  over 
the  dread  undertone  of  the  voice  of  Tamanoiis,  tamanoiis 
voices  again  screamed,  'Ha,  ha,  ha,  hiaqua!'  and  it  seemed 
as  if  tamanoiis  hands,  or  the  paws  of  the  demon  otters, 
clutched  at  the  miser's  right-handful  and  tore  at  his  shoulder 
and  waist  belts. 

"So,  while  darkness  and  tempest  still  buffeted  the 
hapless  old  man,  and  thrust  him  away  from  his  path,  and 
while  the  roaring  was  wickeder  than  the  roars  of  tens  and 


tens  of  tens  of  bears  when  ahungered  they  pounce  upon  a 
plain  of  kamas,  gradually  wounded  and  terrified,  he  flung 
away  string  after  string  of  hiaqua,  gaining  never  any  notice 
of  such  sacrifice,  except  an  instant's  lull  of  the  cyclone 
and  a  puff  from  the  invisible  otters. 

"The  last  string  he  clung  to  long,  and  before  he  threw 
it  to  be  caught  and  whirled  after  its  fellows,  he  tore  off  a 
single  bunch  of  fifty  shells.  But  upon  this,  too,  the  storm 
laid  its  clutches.  In  the  final  desperate  struggle  the  old 
man  was  wounded  so  sternly  that,  when  he  had  given  up 
his  last  relic  of  the  mighty  treasure,  when  he  had  thrown 
into  the  formless  chaos,  instinct  with  Tamanoiis,  his  last 
propitiatory  offering,  he  sank  and  became  insensible. 

"It  seemed  a  long  slumber  to  him,  but  at  last  he  awoke. 
The  jagged  moon  was  just  paling  overhead,  and  he  heard 
Skai-ki,  the  Blue-Jay,  foe  to  magic,  singing  welcome  to 
sunrise.    It  was  the  very  spot  whence  he  started  at  morning. 

"He  was  hungry,  and  felt  for  his  bag  of  kamas  and  a 
pouch  of  smoke-leaves.  There,  indeed,  by  his  side  were 
the  elk-sinew  strings  of  the  bag,  and  the  black  stone  pipe- 
bowl, —  but  no  bag,  no  kamas,  no  kinni-kinnick.  The  whole 
spot  was  thick  with  kamas  plants,  strangely  out  of  place 
on  the  mountain-side,  and  overhead  grew  a  large  arbutus- 
tree,  with  glistening  leaves,  ripe  for  smoking.  The  old 
man  found  his  hard-wood  fire-sticks  safe  under  the  herbage, 
and  soon  twirled  a  light,  and,  nurturing  it  in  dry  grass, 
kindled  a  cheery  fire.  He  plucked  up  kamas,  set  it  to  roast, 
and  laid  a  store  of  the  arbutus-leaves  to  dry  on  a  flat  stone. 

"After  he  had  made  a  hearty  breakfast  on  the  chestnut- 
like kamas-bulbs,  and,  smoking  the  thoughtful  pipe,  was 
reflecting  on  the  events  of  yesterday,  he  became  aware  of 
an  odd  change  in  his  condition.  He  was  not  bruised  and 
wounded  from  head  to  foot,  as  he  expected,  but  very  stiff 
only,  and  as  he  stirred,  his  joints  creaked  like  the  creak  of 
a  lazy  paddle  upon  the  rim  of  a  canoe.  Skai-ki,  the  Blue- 
Jay,  was  singularly  familiar  with  him,  hopping  from  her 

TACOMA.  119 

perch  in  the  arbutus,  and  alighting  on  his  head.  As  he 
put  his  hand  to  dislodge  her,  he  touched  his  scratching- 
stick  of  bone,  and  attempted  to  pass  it,  as  usual,  through 
his  hair.  The  hair  was  matted  and  interlaced  into  a  net- 
work reaching  fully  two  ells  down  his  back.  Tamanous,' 
thought  the  old  man. 

"Chiefly  he  was  conscious  of  a  mental  change.  He  was 
calm  and  content.  Hiaqua  and  wealth  seemed  to  have 
lost  their  charms  for  him.  Tacoma,  shining  like  gold  and 
silver  and  precious  stones  of  gayest  lustre,  seemed  a  benign 
comrade  and  friend.  All  the  outer  world  was  cheerful 
and  satisfying.  He  thought  he  had  never  awakened  to  a 
fresher  morning.  He  was  a  young  man  again,  except  for 
that  unusual  stiffness  and  unmelodious  creaking  in  his 
joints.  He  felt  no  apprehension  of  any  presence  of  a  deputy 
tamanoiis,  sent  by  Tamanous  to  do  malignities  upon  him 
in  the  lonely  wood.  Great  Nature  had  a  kindly  aspect, 
and  made  its  divinity  perceived  only  by  the  sweet  notes  of 
birds  and  the  hum  of  forest  life,  and  by  a  joy  that  clothed 
his  being.  And  now  he  found  in  his  heart  a  sympathy  for 
man,  and  a  longing  to  meet  his  old  acquaintances  down 
by  the  shores  of  Whulge. 

"He  rose,  and  started  on  the  downward  way,  smiling, 
and  sometimes  laughing  heartily  at  the  strange  croaking, 
moaning,  cracking,  and  rasping  of  his  joints.  But  soon 
motion  set  the  lubricating  valves  at  work,  and  the  sockets 
grew  slippery  again.  He  marched  rapidly,  hastening  out  of 
loneliness  into  society.  The  world  of  wood,  glade,  and  stream 
seemed  to  him  strangely  altered.  Old  colossal  trees,  firs 
behind  which  he  had  hidden  when  on  the  hunt,  cedars 
under  whose  drooping  shade  he  had  lurked,  were  down, 
and  lay  athwart  his  path,  transformed  into  immense  mossy 
mounds,  like  barrows  of  giants,  over  which  he  must  clamber 
warily,  lest  he  sink  and  be  half  stifled  in  the  dust  of  rotten 
wood.    Had  Tamanous  been  widely  at  work  in  that  event- 


ful  night? — or  had  the  spiritual  change  the  old  man  felt 
affected  his  views  of  the  outer  world? 

"Travelling  downward,  he  advanced  rapidly,  and  just 
before  sunset  came  to  the  prairies  where  his  lodge  should 
be.  Everything  had  seemed  to  him  so  totally  altered  that 
he  tarried  a  moment  in  the  edge  of  the  woods  to  take  an 
observation  before  approaching  his  home.  There  was  a 
lodge,  indeed,  in  the  old  spot,  but  a  newer  and  far  hand- 
somer one  than  he  had  left  on  the  fourth  evening  before. 

"A  very  decrepit  old  squaw,  ablaze  mth  vermilion  and 
decked  uith  countless  strings  of  hiaqua  and  costly  beads, 
was  seated  on  the  ground  near  the  door,  tending  a  kettle 
of  salmon,  whose  blue  and  fragrant  steam  mingled  pleasantly 
with  the  golden  haze  of  sunset.  She  resembled  his  own 
squaw  in  countenance,  as  an  ancient  smoked  salmon  is 
like  a  newly-dried  salmon.  If  she  was  indeed  his  spouse, 
she  was  many  years  older  than  when  he  saw  her  last,  and 
much  better  dressed  than  the  respectable  lady  had  ever 
been  during  his  miserly  days. 

"He  drew  near  quietly.  The  bedizened  dame  was 
crooning  a  chant,  very  dolorous, —  like  this: 

"  'My  old  man  has  gone,  gone,  gone, — 
My  old  man  to  Tacoma  has  gone 
To  hunt  the  elk,  he  went  long  ago. 
WTien  will  he  come  down,  down,  down, 
Down  to  the  salmon-pot  and  me?' 

"  'He  has  come  from  Tacoma  down,  down,  down, — 
Down  to  the  salmon-pot  and  thee,' 

shouted  the  reformed  miser,  rushing  forward  to  supper 
and  his  faithful  wife." 

"And  how  did  Penelope  explain  the  mystery?"  I  asked. 

"If  you  mean  the  old  lady,"  replied  Hamitchou,  "she 
was  my  gi-andmother,  and  I'd  thank  you  not  to  call  names. 
She  told  my  grandfather  that  he  had  been  gone  many 
years; — she  could  not  tell  how  many,  having  dropped  her 
tally-stick  in  the  fire  by  accident  that  very  day.  She  also 
told  him  how,  in  despite  of  the  entreaties  of  many  a  chief 


The  two  in  the  upper  row  are  Skokomish  twined  wal- 
lets; those  below  are  imbricated  baskets,  the  one  on 
the  left  being  of  Puyallup  and  the  others  of  Klickitat 

TACOMA.  121 

who  knew  her  economic  virtues,  and  prayed  her  to  become 
mistress  of  his  household,  she  had  remained  constant  to 
the  Absent,  and  forever  kept  the  hopeful  salmon-pot  boil- 
ing for  his  return.  She  had  distracted  her  mind  from  the 
bitterness  of  sorrow  by  trading  in  kamas  and  magic  herbs, 
and  had  thus  acquired  a  genteel  competence.  The  excellent 
dame  then  exhibited  with  great  complacency  her  gains, 
most  of  which  she  had  put  in  the  portable  and  secure  form 

"She  resembled  his  own  squaw  as  an  ancient  smoked  salmon  is  lilse  a 
newly-dried  salmon. 

of  personal  ornament,  making  herself  a  resplendent  magazine 
of  valuable  frippery. 

"Little  cared  the  repentant  sage  for  such  things.  But 
he  was  rejoiced  to  be  again  at  home  and  at  peace,  and  near 
his  own  early  gains  of  hiaqua  and  treasure,  buried  in  a  place 
of  security.  These,  however,  he  no  longer  over-esteemed 
and  hoarded.  He  imparted  whatever  he  possessed,  material 
treasures  or  stores  of  wisdom  and  experience,  freely  to  all 
the  land.  Every  dweller  by  Whulge  came  to  him  for  advice 
how  to  chase  the  elk,  how  to  troll  or  spear  the  salmon,  and 


how  to  propitiate  Tamanoiis.  He  became  the  Great  Medi- 
cine Man  of  the  siwashes,  a  benefactor  to  his  tribe  and  his 

"Within  a  year  after  he  came  down  from  his  long  nap 
on  the  side  of  Tacoma,  a  child,  my  father,  was  born  to 
him.  The  sage  lived  many  years,  beloved  and  revered,  and 
on  his  deathbed,  long  before  the  Boston  tilicum  or  any 
blanketeers  were  seen  in  the  regions  of  Whulge,  he  told 
this  history  to  my  father,  as  a  lesson  and  a  warning.  My 
father,  dying,  told  it  to  me.  But  I,  alas!  have  no  son; 
I  grow  old,  and  lest  this  wisdom  perish  from  the  earth, 
and  Tamanoiis  be  again  obliged  to  interpose  against  avarice, 
I  tell  the  tale  to  thee,  0  Boston  tyee.  Mayest  thou  and  thy 
nation  not  disdain  this  lesson  of  an  earlier  age,  but  profit 
by  it  and  be  wise." 

So  far  Hamitchou  recounted  his  legend  without  the 
palisades  of  Fort  Nisqually,  and  motioning,  in  expressive 
pantomime,  at  the  close,  that  he  was  dry  with  big  talk, 
and  would  gladly  wet  his  whistle. 

A  Siwash  Cradle. 


I  had  not  long,  that  noon  of  August,  from  the  top  of 
La  Tete,  to  study  Tacoma,  scene  of  Hamitchou's  wild 
legend.  Humanity  forbade  dalliance.  While  I  fed  my  soul 
with  sublimity,  Klale  and  his  comrades  were  wretched  with 
starvation.  But  the  summit  of  the  pass  is  near.  A  few 
struggles  more,  Klale  the  plucky,  and  thy  empty  sides 
shall  echo  less  drum-like.  Up  stoutly,  my  steeds;  up  a 
steep  but  little  less  than  perpendicular,  paw  over  these 
last  trunks  of  the  barricades  in  our  trail,  and  ye  have  wonl 

So  it  was.  The  angle  of  our  ascent  suddenly  broke 
down  from  ninety  to  fifteen,  then  to  nothing.  We  had 
reached  the  plateau.  Here  were  the  first  prairies.  Nibble 
in  these,  my  nags,  for  a  few  refreshing  moments,  and  then 
on  to  superlative  dinners  in  lovelier  spots  just  beyond. 

Let  no  one,  exaggerating  the  joys  of  campaigning,  with 
Horace's  Militia  potior  est,  deem  that  there  is  no  compen- 
sating pang  among  them.  Is  it  a  pleasant  thing,  0  traveller 
only  in  dreams,  envier  of  the  voyager  in  reality,  to  urge 
tired,  reluctant,  and  unfed  mustangs  up  a  mountain  pass, 
even  for  their  own  good?  In  such  a  case  a  man,  the  human- 
est  and  gentlest,  must  adopt  the  manners  of  a  brute.  He 
must  ply  the  whip,  and  that  cruelly;  otherwise,  no  go.  At 
first,  as  he  smites,  he  winces,  for  he  has  struck  his  own 
sensibilities;  by  and  by  he  hardens  himself,  and  thrashes 
without  a  tremor.  When  the  cortege  arrives  at  an  edible 
prairie,  gastronomic  satisfaction  will  put  Lethean  freshness 
in  the  battered  hide  of  every  horse. 


We  presently  turned  just  aside  from  the  trail  into  an 
episode  of  beautiful  prairie,  one  of  a  succession  along  the 
plateau  at  the  crest  of  the  range.  At  this  height  of  about 
five  thousand  feet,  the  snows  remain  until  June.*  In  this 
fair,  oval,  forest-circled  prairie  of  my  nooning,  the  grass 
was  long  and  succulent,  as  if  it  grew  in  the  bed  of  a  drained 
lake.  The  horses,  undressed,  were  allowed  to  plunge  and 
wallow  in  the  deep  herbage.  Only  horse  heads  soon  could 
be  seen,  moving  about  like  their  brother  hippopotami, 
swimming  in  sedges. 

To  me  it  was  luxury  enough  not  to  be  a  whip  for  a  time. 
Over  and  above  this,  I  had  the  charm  of  a  quiet  nooning 
on  a  bank  of  emerald  turf,  by  a  spring,  at  the  edge  of  a 
clump  of  evergreens.  I  took  my  luncheon  of  cold  salt 
pork  and  doughy  biscuit  by  a  well  of  brightest  water.  I 
called  in  no  proxy  of  tin  cup  to  aid  me  in  saluting  this 
sparkling  creature,  but  stooped  and  kissed  the  spring. 
When  I  had  rendered  my  first  homage  thus  to  the  goddess 
of  the  fountain,  Mg]e  herself,  perhaps,  fairest  of  Naiads, 
I  drank  thirstily  of  the  medium  in  which  she  dwelt.  A 
bubbling  dash  of  water  leaped  up  and  splashed  my  visage 
as  I  withdrew.  Why  so,  sweet  fountain,  which  I  may  name 
Hippocrene,  since  hoofs  of  Klale  have  caused  me  thy  dis- 
covery? Is  this  a  rebuff?  If  there  ever  was  lover  who 
little  merited  such  treatment  it  is  I.  "Not  so,  appreciative 
stranger,"  came  up  in  other  bubbling  gushes  the  responsive 
voice  of  Nature  through  sweet  vibrations  of  the  melodious 
fount.  "Never  a  Nymph  of  mine  will  thrust  thee  back. 
This  sudden  leap  of  water  was  a  movement  of  sympathy, 
and  a  gentle  emotion  of  hospitality.  The  Naiad  there  was 
offering  thee  her  treasure  liberally,  and  saying  that,  drink 
as  thou  wilt,  I,  her  mother  Nature,  have  commanded  my 
winds  and  sun  to  distil  thee  fresh  supplies,  and  my  craggy 
crevices  are  filtering  it  in  the  store-houses,  that  it  may  be 

*The  bench-mark  placed  by  the  Government  Survey  gives  the  altitude 
of  Naches  Pass  as  4,988  feet. 


offered  to  every  welcome  guest,  pure  and  cool  as  airs  of 
dawn.  Stoop  down,"  continued  the  voice,  "thirsty  way- 
farer, and  kiss  again  my  daughter  of  the  fountain,  nor  be 
abashed  if  she  meets  thee  half-way.  She  knows  that  a 
true  lover  will  never  scorn  his  love's  delicate  advances." 
In  response  to  such  invitation,  and  the  more  for  my 
thirsty  slices  of  pork,  I  lapped  the  aerated  tipple  in  its 
goblet,  whose  stem  reaches  deep  into  the  bubble  labora- 
tories. I  lapped, —  an  excellent  test  of  pluck  in  the  days  of 
Gideon,  son  of  Barak; — and  why?  For  many  reasons,  but 
among  them  for  this; — he  who  lying  prone  can  with  stout 
muscular  gullet  swallow  water,  will  be  also  able  to  swallow 
back  into  position  his  heart,  when  in  moments  of  tremor 
it  leaps  into  his  throat. 

When  I  had  lapped  plenteously,  I  lay  and  let  the  breeze- 
shaken  shadows  smooth  me  into  smiling  mood,  while  my 
sympathies  overflowed  to  enjoy  with  my  horses  their  din- 
ner. They  fed  like  school-boys  home  for  Thanksgiving, 
in  haste  lest  the  present  banquet,  too  good  to  be  true,  prove 
Barmecide.  A  feast  of  colossal  grasses  placed  itself  at  the 
lips  of  the  breakfastless  stud.  They  champed  as  their  na- 
ture was; — Klale  like  a  hungry  gentleman, —  Gubbins  like  a 
hungry  clodhopper, —  Antipodes  Hke  a  lubberly  oaf.  They 
were  laying  in,  according  to  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company's 
rule,  supply  at  this  meal  for  five  days;  without  such  power, 
neither  man  nor  horse  is  fit  to  tramp  the  Northwest. 

I  lay  on  the  beautiful  verdant  bank,  plucking  now  dex- 
trously  and  now  sinistrously  of  strawberries,  that  summer, 
climbing  late  to  these  snowy  heights,  had  just  ripened. 
Medical  men  command  us  to  swallow  twice  a  day  one  bitter 
pill  confectioned  of  all  disgust.  Nature  doses  us,  by  no 
means  against  our  will,  with  many  sweet  boluses  of  delight, 
berries  compacted  of  acidulated,  sugary  spiciness.  Nature, 
tenderest  of  leeches, —  no  bolus  of  hers  is  pleasanter  medica- 
ment than  her  ruddy  strawberries.  She  shaped  them  like 
Minie-balls,  that    they    might  traverse  unerringly  to  the 


cell  of  most  dulcet  digestion.  Over  their  glistening  sur- 
face she  peppered  little  golden  dots  to  act  as  obstacles  lest 
they  should  glide  too  fleetly  over  the  surfaces  of  taste,  and 
also  gently  to  rasp  them  into  keener  sensitiveness.  Mongers 
of  pestled  poisons  may  punch  their  pills  in  malodorous  mor- 
tars, roll  them  in  floury  palms,  pack  them  in  pink  boxes, 
and  send  them  forth  to  distress  a  world  of  patients; — but 
Nature,  who  if  she  even  feels  one's  pulse  does  it  by  a  gentle 
pressure  of  atmosphere, —  Nature,  knowing  that  her  chil- 
dren in  their  travels  always  need  lively  tonics,  tells  wind, 
sun,  and  dew,  servitors  of  hers,  clean  and  fine  of  touch,  to 
manipulate  gay  strawberries,  and  dispose  them  attractively 
on  fair  green  terraces,  shaded  at  parching  noon.  Of  these 
lovely  fabrics  of  pithy  pulpiness,  no  limit  to  the  dose,  if  the 
invalid  does  as  Nature  intended,  and  plucks  for  himself, 
with  fingers  rosy  and  fragrant.  I  plucked  of  them,  as  far 
as  I  could  reach  on  either  side  of  me,  and  then  lay  drowsily 
reposing  on  my  couch  at  the  summit  of  the  Cascade  Pass, 
under  the  shade  of  a  fir,  which,  outstanding  from  the  forest, 
had  changed  its  columnar  structure  into  a  pyramidal,  and 
had  branches  all  along  its  stalwart  trunk,  instead  of  a  mere 
tuft  at  the  top. 

In  this  shade  I  should  have  known  the  tree  which  gave 
it,  without  looking  up, —  not  because  the  sharp  little  spicular 
leaves  of  the  fir,  miniatures  of  that  sword  Rome  used  to 
open  the  world,  its  oyster,  would  drop  and  plunge  them- 
selves into  my  eyes,  or  would  insert  their  blades  down  my 
back  and  scarify, —  but  because  there  is  an  influence  and 
sentiment  in  umbrages,  and  under  every  tree  its  own  atmos- 
phere. Elms  refine  and  have  a  graceful  elegiac  effect  upon 
those  they  shelter.  Oaks  drop  robustness.  Mimosas  will 
presently  make  a  sensitive-plant  of  him  who  hangs  his  ham- 
mock beneath  their  shade.  Cocoa-palms  will  infect  him 
with  such  tropical  indolence  that  he  will  not  stir  until  frowzy 
monkeys  climb  the  tree  and  pelt  him  away  to  the  next 
one.   The  shade  of  pine-trees,  as  any  one  can  prove  by  a 


journey  in  Maine,  makes  those  who  undergo  it  wiry,  keen, 
trenchant,  inexhaustible,  and  tough. 

When  I  had  felt  the  influence  of  my  fir  shelter,  on  the  edge 
of  the  wayside  prairie,  long  enough,  I  became  of  course  keen 
as  a  blade.  I  sprang  up  and  called  to  Loolowcan,  in  a 
resinous  voice,  "Mamook  chaco  cuitan;  make  come  horse." 

Loolowcan,  in  more  genial  mood  than  I  had  known  him, 
drove  the  trio  out  from  the  long  grass.  They  came  forth 
not  without  backward  hankerings,  but  far  happier  quad- 
rupeds than  when  they  climbed  the  pass  at  noon.  It  was  a 
pleasure  now  to  compress  with  the  knees  Klale,  transformed 
from  an  empty  barrel  with  protuberant  hoops,  into  a  full 
and  elastic  cylinder,  smooth  as  the  boiler  of  a  locomotive. 

"Loolowcan,  my  lad,  my  experienced  guide,  cur  nesika 
moosum;  where  sleep  we?"  said  L 

"Copa  Sowee  house, —  kicuali.  Sowee,  olyman  tyee, — 
memloose.  Sia-a-a-h  mitlite; — At  Sowee's  camp, —  below. 
Sowee,  oldman  chief, —  dead.  It  is  far,  far  away,"  replied 
the  son  of  Owhhigh. 

Far  is  near,  distance  is  annihilated  this  brilliant  day  of 
summer,  for  us  recreated  with  Hippocrene,  strawberries,  shade 
of  fir,  and  tall  snow-fed  grass.  Down  the  mxountain  range 
seems  nothing  after  our  long  laborious  up;  "the  half  is  more 
than  the  whole."  "Lead  on,  Loolowcan,  intelligent  brave, 
toward  the  residence  of  the  late  Sowee." 

More  fair  prairies  linked  themselves  along  the  trail. 
From  these  alpine  pastures  the  future  will  draw  butter  and 
cheese,  pasturing  migratory  cattle  there,  when  summer 
dries  the  scanty  grass  upon  the  macadamized  prairies  of 
Whulge.  It  is  well  to  remind  ourselves  sometimes  that  the 
world  is  not  wholly  squatted  over.  The  plateau  soon  began 
to  ebb  toward  the  downward  slope.  Descent  was  like  as- 
cent, a  way  shaggy  and  abrupt.  Again  the  Boston  hooihut 
intruded.  My  friends,  the  woodsmen,  had  constructed  an 
elaborate  inclined  plane  of  very  knobby  corduroy  down,  the 
steepest   steep.      Klale   sniffed   at   this  novel  road,  and 


turned  up  his  nose  at  it.  He  was  competent  to  protect  that 
feature  against  all  the  perils  of  stumble  and  fall  on  trails 
he  had  been  educated  to  travel,  but  dreaded  grinding  it  on 
the  rough  bark  of  this  unaccustomed  highway.  Slow-footed 
oxen,  leaning  inward  and  sustaining  each  other,  like  two 
roisterers  unsteady  after  wassail,  might  clumsily  toil  up 
such  a  road  as  this,  hauling  up  stout,  white-cotton-roofed 
wagons,  filled  with  the  babies  and  Lares  of  emigrants;  but 
quick-footed  ponies,  descending  and  carrying  light  loads 
of  a  wild  Indian  and  an  untamed  blanketeer,  chose  rather 
to  whisk  along  the  aboriginal  paths.* 

As  we  came  to  the  irregular  terraces  after  the  first  pitch, 
and  scampered  on  gayly,  I  by  and  by  heard  a  welcome  whiz, 
and  a  dusky  grouse  {Tetrao  ohscurus)  lifted  himself  out  of 
the  trail  into  the  lower  branches  of  a  giant  fir.  I  had  lugged 
my  double-barrel  thus  far,  a  futile  burden,  unless  when  it 
served  a  minatory  purpose  among  the  drunken  Klalams. 
Now  it  became  an  animated  machine,  and  uttered  a  sharp 
exclamation  of  relief  after  long  patient  silence.  Down  came 
tetrao, —  down  he  came  with  satisfactory  thud,  signifying 
pounds  of  something  not  pork  for  supper.  We  bagged  him 
joyously  and  dashed  on. 

"Kopet,"  whispered  Loolowcan  turning,  with  a  hushing 
gesture,  "hin  kullakullie  nika  nanitch; — halt,  plenty  birds 
I  see."  He  was  so  eager  that  from  under  his  low  brows 
and  unkempt  hair  his  dusky  eyes  glared  like  the  eyes  of  wild 
beast,  studying  his  prey  from  a  shadowy  lair. 

Dismounting,  I  stole  forward  with  assassin  intent,  and 
birds,  grouse,  five  noble  ones  I  saw,  engaged  in  fattening 
their  bodies  for  human  solace  and  support.  I  sent  a  shot 
among  them.  There  was  a  flutter  among  the  choir, —  one 
fluttered  not.  At  the  sound  of  my  right  barrel  one  bird 
fell  without  rising;  another  rose  and  fell  at  a  hint  from  the 
sinister  tube.  The  surviving  trio  were  distracted  by  m.ortal 
terror.    They  flew  no  farther  than  a  dwarf  tree  hard  by.    I 

*For  the  history  of  this  road,  see  Appendix  B. 


drew  my  revolver,  thinking  that  there  might  not  be  time  to 
load,  and  fired  in  a  hurry  at  the  lowermost. 

"Hyas  tamanoiis!"  whispered  Loolowcan,  when  no  bird 
fell  or  flew,  —  "big  magic,"  it  seemed  to  the  superstitious 
youth.  Often  when  sportsmen  miss,  they  claim  that  their 
gun  is  bewitched,  and  avail  themselves  of  the  sure  silver 

A  second  ball,  passing  with  keener  aim  through  the  bar- 
rel, attained  its  mark.  Grouse  third  shook  off  his  mortal 
remains,  and  sped  to  heaven.  The  two  others,  contrary  to 
rule,  for  I  had  shot  the  lower,  fled,  cowardly  carrying  their 
heavy  bodies  to  die  of  cold,  starvation,  or  old  age.  "The 
good  die  first," — ay,  Wordsworth!  among  birds  this  is 
verity;  for  the  good  are  the  fat,  who,  because  of  their 
avoirdupois,  lag  in  flight,  or  alight  upon  lower  branches  and 
are  easiest  shot. 

Loolowcan  bagged  my  three  trophies  and  added  them 
to  the  first.  Henceforth  the  thought  of  a  grouse  supper 
became  a  fixed  idea  with  me.  I  dwelt  upon  it  with  even 
morbid  appetite.  I  rehearsed,  in  prophetic  mood,  the  scene 
of  plucking,  the  scene  of  roasting,  that  happy  festal  scene  of 
eating.  So  immersed  did  I  become  in  gastronomic  revery, 
that  I  did  not  mind  my  lookout,  as  I  dashed  after  Loolowcan, 
fearless  and  agile  cavalier.  A  thrust  awoke  me  to  a  sense 
of  passing  objects,  a  very  fierce,  lance-like  thrust,  full  at  my 
life.  A  wrecking  snag  of  harsh  dead  wood  that  projected 
up  in  the  trail  struck  me,  and  tore  me  half  off  my  horse, 
leaving  me  jerked,  scratched,  disjointed,  and  shuddering. 
Pachydermatous  leggins  of  buckskin,  at  cost  of  their  own 
unity,  had  saved  me  from  impalement.  Some  such  warning 
is  always  preparing  for  the  careless. 

I  soon  had  an  opportunity  to  propitiate  Nemesis  by  a 
humane  action.  A  monstrous  trunk  lay  across  the  trail. 
Loolowcan,  reckless  steeple-chaser,  put  his  horse  at  it,  full 
speed.  Gubbins,  instead  of  going  over  neatly,  or  scrambling 
over  cat-like,  reared  rampant  and  shied   back,  volte-face. 


I  rode  forward  to  see  what  fresh  interference  of  Tamanoiis 
was  here, —  nothing  tamanoiis  but  an  unexpected  sorry  ob- 
ject of  a  horse.  A  wretched  castaway,  probably  abandoned 
by  the  exploring  party,  or  astray  from  them,  essaying  to 
leap  the  tree,  had  fallen  back  beneath  the  trunk  and 
branches,  and  lay  there  entangled  and  perfectly  helpless.  We 
struggled  to  release  him.  In  vain.  At  last  a  thought  struck 
me.  We  seized  the  poor  beast  by  his  tail,  fortunately  a 
tenacious  member,  and,  heaving  vigorously,  towed  him  out 
of  prison. 

He  tottered  forlornly  to  his  feet,  looking  about  him  like 
one  risen  from  the  dead.  "How  now.  Caudal?"  said  I, 
baptizing  him  by  the  name  of  the  part  that  saved  his  life; 
"canst  thou  follow  toward  fodder?"  He  debated  the  ques- 
tion with  himself  awhile.  Solitary  confinement  of  indefinite 
length,  in  a  cramped  posture,  had  given  the  poor  skeleton 
time  to  consider  that  safety  from  starvation  is  worth  one 
effort  more.  He  found  that  there  was  still  a  modicum  of 
life  and  its  energy  within  his  baggy  hide.  My  horses  seemed 
to  impart  to  him  some  of  their  electricity,  and  he  staggered 
on  droopingly.  Lucky  Caudal,  if  life  is  worth  having,  that 
on  that  day,  of  all  days,  I  should  have  arrived  to  rescue 
him.  Strange  deliverances  for  body  and  soul  come  to  the 
dying.  Fate  sends  unlooked-for  succor,  when  horses  or  men 

Luckily  for  Caudal,  the  weak-kneed  and  utterly  dejected, 
Sowee's  prairie  was  near, —  near  was  the  prairie  of  Sowee.. 
mighty  hunter  of  deer  and  elk,  terror  of  bears.  There  at 
weird  night  Sowee's  ghost  was  often  seen  to  stalk.  Dyspep- 
tics from  feather-beds  behold  ghosts,  and  are  terrified,  but 
night-walkers  are  but  bugbears  to  men  who  have  ridden  from 
dawn  to  dusk  of  a  long  summer's  day  over  an  Indian  trail 
in  the  mountains.  I  felt  no  fear  that  any  incubus  in  the 
shape  of  a  brassy-hued  Indian  chief  would  sit  upon  my 
breast  that  night,  and  murder  wholesome  sleep. 

Nightfall  was  tumbling  down  from  the  zenith  before  we 


reached  camp.  The  sweet  glimmers  of  twilight  were  ousted 
from  the  forest,  sternly  as  mercy  is  thrust  from  a  darkening 
heart.  Night  is  really  only  beautiful  so  far  as  it  is  not  night, 
—  that  is,  for  its  stars,  which  are  sources  of  resolute 
daylight  in  other  spheres,  and  for  its  moon,  which  is  day- 
light's memory,  realized,  softened,  and  refined. 

Night,  however,  had  not  drawn  the  pall  of  brief  death 
over  the  world  so  thick  but  that  I  could  see  enough  to  respect 
the  taste  of  the  late  Sowee.  When  he  voted  himself  this  farm, 
and  became  seized  of  it  in  the  days  of  unwritten  agrarian 
laws,  and  before  patents  were  in  vogue,  he  proved  his 
intelligent  right  to  suffrage  and  seizure.  Here  in  admirable 
quality  were  the  three  first  requisites  of  a  home  in  the  wilder- 
ness, water,  wood,  and  grass.  A  musical  rustle,  as  we  gal- 
loped through,  proved  the  long  grass.  All  around  was  the 
unshorn  forest.  There  were  columnar  firs  making  the  Sowee 
house  a  hypasthral  temple  on  a  grand  scale. 

There  had  been  here  a  lodge.  A  few  saplings  of  its  frame- 
work still  stood,  but  Sowee  had  moved  elsewhere  not  long 
ago.  Wake  siah  memloose, —  not  long  dead  was  the 
builder,  and  viator  might  camp  here  unquestioned. 

Caudal  had  followed  us  in  inane,  irresponsible  way.  Pa- 
tient now  he  stood,  apparently  waiting  for  farther  commands 
from  his  preservers.  We  unpacked  and  unsaddled  the  other 
animals.  They  knew  their  business,  namely,  to  bolt  instantly 
for  their  pasture.  Then  a  busy  uproar  of  nipping  and  crunch- 
ing was  heard.  Poor  Caudal  could  not  take  the  hint.  We 
were  obliged  to  drive  that  bony  estray  with  blows  out  to 
the  supper-field,  where  he  stood  aghast  at  the  appetites 
of  his  new  comrades.  Repose  and  good  example,  however, 
soon  had  their  effect,  and  eight  equine  jaws  instead  of  six 
made  play  in  the  herbage. 

"Alki  mika  mamook  pire,  pe  nesika  klatawah  copa  klap 
tsuk;  now  light  thou  a  fire,  and  we  will  go  to  find  water," 
said  Loolowcan.  I  struck  fire, —  fire  smote  tinder, —  tinder 
sent  the  flame  on,  until  a  pyre  from  the  world's  free  wood-pile 


was  kindled.  This  boon  of  fire, —  what  wonder  that  men  de- 
vised a  Prometheus  greatest  of  demigods  as  its  discoverer? 
Mortals,  shrinking  from  the  responsibility  of  a  high  destiny 
and  dreading  to  know  how  divine  the  Divine  would  have 
them,  always  imagine  an  avatar  of  some  one  not  lower  than 
a  half-god  when  a  gift  of  great  price  comes  to  the  world. 
And  fire  is  a  very  priceless  and  beautiful  boon, —  not,  as 
most  know  it,  in  imprisonment,  barred  with  iron,  or  in  sooty 
chimneys,  or  in  mad  revolt  of  conflagration,  but  as  it 
grows  in  a  flashing  pyramid  out  in  camp  in  the  free  woods, 
with  eager  air  hurrying  in  on  every  side  to  feed  its  glory. 
In  the  gloom  I  strike  metal  of  steel  against  metallic  flint. 
From  this  union  a  child  is  born.  I  receive  the  young  spark 
tenderly  in  warm  "tipsoo,"  in  a  soft  woolly  nest  of  bark 
or  grass  tinder.  Swaddled  in  this  he  thrives.  He  smiles; 
he  chuckles;  he  laughs;  he  dances  about,  does  my  agile  nurs- 
ling. He  will  soon  wear  out  his  first  infantile  garb,  so  I 
cover  him  up  in  shelter.  I  feed  him  with  digestible  viands, 
according  to  his  years.  I  give  him  presently  stouter  fare, 
and  offer  exhilarating  morsels  of  fatness.  All  these  the 
hearty  youth  assimilates,  and  grows  healthily.  And  now 
I  educate  him  to  manliness,  training  him  on  great  joints, 
shoulders,  and  marrowy  portions.  He  becomes  erelong  a 
power  and  a  friend  able  to  requite  me  generously  for  my 
care.  He  aids  me  in  preparing  my  feast,  and  we  feast  to- 
gether. Afterward  we  talk, —  Flame  and  I, —  we  think  to- 
gether strong  and  passionate  thoughts  of  purpose  and 
achievement.  These  emotions  of  manhood  die  away,  and 
we  share  pensive  memories  of  happiness  missed,  or  dis- 
dained, or  feebly  grasped  and  torn  away;  regrets  cover 
these  like  embers,  and  slowly  over  dead  fieriness  comes  a 
robe  of  ashy  gray. 

Fire  in  the  forest  is  light,  heat,  and  cheer.  When  ours 
was  nurtured  to  the  self-sustaining  point,  we  searched  to 
find  where  the  sage  Sowee  kept  his  potables.  Carefully 
covered  up  in  sedges  was  a  slender  supply  of  water,  worth 


concealing  from  vulgar  dabblers.  Its  diamond  drops  were 
hidden  away  so  thoroughly  that  we  must  mine  for  them  by 
torchlight.  I  held  a  flaring  torch,  while  Loolowcan  lay  in 
wait  for  the  trickle,  and  captured  it  in  a  tin  pot.  How  wild 
he  looked,  that  youth  so  frowzy  by  daylight,  as,  stooping 
under  the  tall  sedges,  he  clutched  those  priceless  sparkles! 

Upon  the  carte  du  jour  at  Restaurant  Sowee  was  written 
Grouse.  "How  shall  we  have  them?"  said  I,  cook  and  con- 
vive, to  Loolowcan,  marmiton  and  convive.  "One  of 
these  cocks  of  the  mountain  shall  be  fried,  since  gridiron 
is  not,"  responded  I  to  myself,  after  meditation.  "Two 
shall  be  spitted,  and  roasted;  and,  as  Azrael  may  not  want 
us  before  breakfast  to-morrow,  the  fourth  shall  go  upon 
the  carte  de  dejeuner." 

"0  Pork!  what  a  creature  thou  art!"  continued  I,  in 
monologue,  cutting  neat  slices  of  that  viand  with  my  bowie- 
knife,  and  laying  them  fraternally,  three  in  a  bed,  in  the 
frying-pan.  "Blessed  be  Moses!  who  forbade  thee  to  the 
Jews,  whereby  we,  of  freer  dispensations,  heirs  of  all  the 
ages,  inherit  also  pigs  more  numerous  and  bacon  cheaper. 
0  Pork!  what  could  campaigners  do  without  thy  fatness, 
thy  leanness,  thy  saltness,  thy  portableness?" 

Here  Loolowcan  presented  me  the  three  birds  plucked 
featherless  as  Plato's  man.  The  two  roasters  we  planted 
carefully  on  spits  before  a  sultry  spot  of  the  fire.  From  a 
horizontal  stick,  supported  on  forked  stakes,  we  suspended 
by  a  twig  over  each  roaster  an  automatic  baster,  an  in- 
verted cone  of  pork,  ordained  to  yield  its  spicy  juices  to 
the  wooing  flame,  and  drip  bedewing  on  each  bosom  be- 
neath. The  roasters  ripened  deliberately,  while  keen  and 
quick  fire  told  upon  the  fryer,  the  first  course  of  our  feast. 
Meanwhile  I  brewed  a  pot  of  tea,  blessing  Confucius  for 
that  restorative  weed,  as  I  had  blessed  Moses  for  his  absti- 
nence from  porkers. 

Need  I  say  that  the  grouse  were  admirable,  that  every- 
thing was  delicious,  and  the  Confucian  weed  first  chop? 



Even  a  scouse  of  mouldy  biscuit  met  the  approval  of  Loolow- 
can.  Feasts  cooked  under  the  greenwood  tree,  and  eaten 
by  their  cooks  after  a  triumphant  day  of  progress,  are 
sweeter  than  the  conventional  banquets  of  languid  Christen- 
dom. After  we  had  paid  our  duty  to  the  brisk  fryer  and  the 
rotund  roaster  grouse,  nothing  remained  but  bones  to  pro- 
pitiate Sowee,  should  he  find  short  commons 
in  Elysium,  and  wander  back  to  his  lodge, 
seeking  what  he  might  devour. 

All  along  the  journey  I  had  been  quietly 
probing  the  nature  of  Loolowcan,  my  most 
intimate  associate  thus  far  among  the  un- 
alloyed copper-skins.  Chinook  jargon  was 
indeed  but  a  blunt  probe,  yet  perhaps  deli- 
cate enough  to  follow  up  such  rough  bits  of 
conglomerate  as  served  him  for  ideas.  An 
inductive  philosopher,  tracing  the  laws  of 
developing  human  thought  in  corpore  vili  of 
a  frowzy  savage,  finds  his  work  simple, — 
the  nuggets  are  on  the  surface.  Those  tough 
pebbles  known  to  some  metaphysicians  as 
innate  ideas  can  be  studied  in  Loolowcan  in 
their  process  of  formation  out  of  instincts. 
Number  One  is  the  prize  number  in 
Loolowcan's  lottery  of  life.  He  thinks  of 
that  number;  he  dreams  of  it  alone.  When 
he  lies  down  to  sleep,  he  plots  what  he  will 
do  in  the  morning  with  his  prize  and  his 
possession;  when  he  wakes,  he  at  once  pro- 
ceeds to  execute  his  plots.  Loolowcan  knows  that  there 
are  powers  out  of  himself;  rights  out  of  himself  he  does 
not  comprehend,  or  even  conceive.  I  have  thus  far  been 
very  indulgent  to  him,  and  treated  him  republicanly,  mind- 
ful of  the  heavy  mesne  profits  for  the  occupation  of  a  con- 
tinent, and  the  uncounted  arrears  of  blood-money  owed  by 
my  race  to  his;  yet  I  find  no  trace  of  gratitude  in  my  an- 

Costumed  Figure 
Carved  from  a 
Deer's  Antler. 
F  o  und  i  n  a 
Child's  Grave 
near     Tampico. 


alysis  of  his  character.  He  seems  to  be  composed,  selfish- 
ness, five  hundred  parts;  nil  admirari  coolness,  five  hundred 
parts; — a  well-balanced  character,  and  perhaps  one  not 
likely  to  excite  enthusiasm  in  others.  I  am  a  steward  to 
him;  I  purvey  him  also  a  horse;  when  we  reach  the  Dalles, 
I  am  to  pay  him  for  his  services;  but  he  is  bound  to  me 
by  no  tie  of  comrade-ry.  He  has  caution  more  highly 
developed  than  any  quadruped  I  have  met,  and  will 
not  offend  me  lest  I  should  resign  my  stewardship,  retract 
Gubbins,  refuse  payment,  discharge  my  guide,  and  fight 
through  the  woods,  where  he  sees  I  am  no  stranger,  alone- 
He  certainly  merits  a  "teapot"  for  his  ability  in  guidance. 
He  has  memory  and  observation  unerring;  not  once  in  all 
our  intricate  journey  have  I  found  him  at  fault  in  any  fact 
of  space  or  time.  He  knows  "each  lane  and  every  alley 
green"  here,  accurately  as  Comus  knew  his  "wild  wood." 

Moral  conceptions  exist  only  in  a  very  limited  degree 
for  this  type  of  his  race.  Of  God  he  knows  somewhat  less 
than  the  theologians;  that  is,  he  is  in  the  primary  condition 
of  uninquisitive  ignorance,  not  in  the  secondary,  of  inquisi- 
tive muddle.  He  has  the  advantage  of  no  elaborate  sys- 
tem of  human  inventions  to  unlearn.  He  has  no  distinct 
fetichism.  None  of  the  North  American  Indians  have,  in 
the  accurate  sense  of  the  term;  their  nomad  life  and  tough 
struggle  with  instructive  Nature  in  her  roughness  save  them 
from  such  elaborate  fetichism  as  may  exist  in  more  indolent 
climes  and  countries. 

Loolowcan  has  his  tamanoiis.  It  is  Talipus,  the  Wolf, 
a  "hyas  skookoom  tamanoiis,  a  very  mighty  demon,"  he 
informs  me.  He  does  not  worship  it;  that  would  interfere 
with  his  devotions  to  his  real  deity.  Number  One.  It,  in 
return,  does  him  little  service.  If  he  met  Talipus,  object 
of  his  superstition,  on  a  fair  morning,  he  would  think  it  a 
good  omen;  if  on  a  sulky  morning,  he  might  be  somewhat  de- 
pressed, but  would  not  on  that  account  turn  back,  as  a 
Roman  brave  would  have  done  on  meeting  the  matinal  wolf. 


In  fact,  he  keeps  Talipus,  his  tamanous,  as  a  kind  of  ideal 
hobby,  very  much  as  a  savage  civilized  man  entertains  a 
pet  bulldog  or  a  tame  bear,  a  link  between  himself  and  the 
rude,  dangerous  forces  of  nature.  Loolowcan  has  either 
chosen  his  protector  according  to  the  law  of  likeness,  or, 
choosing  it  by  chance,  has  become  assimilated  to  its  char- 
acteristics. A  wolfish  youth  is  the  protege  of  Talipus,  an 
unfaithful,  sinister,  cannibal-looking  son  of  a  horse-thief. 
Wolfish  likewise  is  his  appetite;  when  he  asks  me  for  more 
dinner,  and  this  without  stint  or  decorum  he  does,  he  glares 
as  if,  grouse  failing,  pork  and  hardtack  gone,  he  could  call 
to  Talipus  to  send  in  a  pack  of  wolves  incarnate,  and  pounce 
with  them  upon  me.  A  pleasant  companion  this  for  lamb- 
like me  to  lie  down  beside  in  the  den  of  the  late  Sowee.  Yet 
I  do  presently,  after  supper  and  a  pipe,  and  a  little  jargon- 
ing  in  Chinook  with  my  Wolf,  roll  into  my  blankets,  and 
sleep  vigorously,  lulled  by  the  gratifying  noise  of  my  grami- 
nivorous horses  cramming  themselves  with  material  for 
leagues  of  lope  to-morrow. 

No  shade  of  Sowee  came  to  my  slumbers  with  warnings 
against  the  wolf  in  guise  of  a  Klickatat  brave.  I  had  no 
ghostly  incubus  to  shake  off,  but  sprang  up  recreate  in  body 
and  soul.   Life  is  vivid  when  it  thus  awakes.   To  be  is  to  do. 

And  to-day  much  is  to  be  done.  Long  leagues  away,  be- 
yond a  gorge  of  difficulty,  is  the  open  rolling  hill  country, 
and  again  far  beyond  are  the  lodges  of  the  people  of 
Owhhigh.  "To-day,"  said  Loolowcan,  "we  must  go  copa 
nika  ilihee,  to  my  home,  to  Weenas." 

Forlorn  Caudal  is  hardly  yet  a  frisky  quadruped.  Yet 
he  is  of  better  cheer,  perhaps  up  to  the  family-nag  degree 
of  vivacity.  As  to  the  others,  they  have  waxed  fat,  and 
kick.  Klale,  the  Humorous,  kicks  playfully,  elongating  his 
legs  in  preparatory  gymnastics.  Gubbins,  the  average 
horse,  kicks  calmly  at  his  saddler,  merely  as  a  protest.  An- 
tipodes, the  spiteful  blunderer,  kicks  in  a  revolutionary 
manner,  rolls  under  his  pack-saddle,  and  will  not  budge 



without  maltreatment.  Ill-educated  Antipodes  views  man- 
kind only  as  excoriators  of  his  back,  and  general  flagellants. 
Klickatats  kept  him  raw  in  flesh  and  temper;  under  me  his 
physical  condition  improves;  his  character  is  not  yet  affected. 
Before  sunrise  we  quitted  the  house  of  Sowee. 

Yakima  Sculptured  and  Inlaid  Stone  Pipe. 



I  was  now  to  enter  the  world  east  of  the  Cascades,  emerg- 
ing from  the  dense  forest  of  the  mountain-side.  Pacific 
winds  sailing  inland  leave  most  of  their  moisture  on  the 
western  slopes  of  the  range.  Few  of  the  cloudy  battalions 
that  sweep  across  the  sea,  and  come,  not  like  an  invading 
horde  of  ravagers,  but  like  an  army  of  generous  allies, —  few 
of  these  pass  over  the  ramparts,  and  pour  their  wealth  into 
the  landward  valleys.  The  giant  trees,  fattened  in  their 
cells  by  plenteous  draughts  of  water,  are  no  longer  found. 
The  land  is  arid.  Slopes  and  levels  of  ancient  volcanic  rock 
are  no  longer  fertilized  by  the  secular  deposit  of  forests, 
showering  down  year  by  year  upon  the  earth  liberal  interest 
for  the  capital  it  has  lent. 

Through  this  drier  and  airier  region  we  now  hastened. 
An  arrowy  river,  clear  and  cold,  became  our  companion. 
Where  it  might,  the  trail  followed  the  Nachchese  valley, 
a  rough  rift  often,  and  hardly  meriting  the  gentle  name  of 
valley.  Precipices,  stiff,  uncrumbling  precipices,  are  to  be 
found  there,  if  any  one  is  ambitious  to  batter  his  brains. 
Cleft  front  on  the  right  bank  answers  to  cleft  front  on  the 
left, —  fronts  cloven  when  the  earth's  crust,  cooling  here- 
abouts, snapped,  and  the  monsters  of  the  period  heard  the 
rumble  and  roar  of  the  earthquake,  their  crack  of  doom. 
Sombre  basalt  walls  in  the  fugitive  river,  great,  gloomy, 
purple  heights,  sheer  and  desperate  as  suicide,  rise  six  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  water.  Above  these  downright  mural 
breaks  rise  vast  dangerous  curves  of  mountain-side,  thous- 


"An  arrowy  river,  clear  and  cold,  became  our  companion. 
Where  it  m.ight,  the  trail  followed  the  Naches  Valley. 
*  *  *  Stiff,  uncrumbling  precipices  are  there.  Cleft 
front  on  the  right  bank  answers  to  cleft  front  on  the 
left, — fronts  cloven  when  the  earth's  crust,  cooling 
hereabouts,  snapped,  and  the  monsters  of  the  period 
heard  the  rumble  and  roar  of  the  earthquake,  their 
crack  of  doom.  Sombre  basalt  walls  in  the  fugitive 
river,  great,  gloomy,  purple  heights,  sheer  and  desper- 
ate as  suicide,  rise  six  hundred  feet  above  the  water." 

—Chapter  IX. 

VIA  MALA.  139 

ands  of  feet  on  high,  just  at  such  angle  that  slide  or  no  slide 
becomes  a  question.  A  traveller,  not  desponding,  but  only- 
cautious,  hesitates  to  wake  Echo,  lest  that  sweet  nymph, 
stirring  with  the  tremors  of  awakening,  should  set  air  vi- 
brating out  of  its  condition  of  quiet  pressure,  and  the  enor- 
mous mountain,  seizing  this  instant  of  relief,  should  send 
down  some  cubic  miles  in  an  avalanche  to  crush  the  traveller. 

A  very  desolate  valley,  and  a  harsh  defile  at  best  for  a 
trail  to  pursue.  At  best  the  way  might  wind  among  debris, 
or  pass  over  hard  plates  of  sheeny,  igneous  rock,  or  plunge 
into  the  chill  river,  or  follow  a  belt  of  sand,  or  struggle  in 
swampy  thickets, —  this  at  best  it  did.  But  when  worst 
came,  when  the  precipices  neared  each  other,  narrowing  the 
cafion  pathless,  and  there  were  deep,  still,  sunless  pools, 
brimming  up  to  the  giant  walls  of  the  basin,  then  the  trail 
must  desert  the  river,  and  climb  many  hundreds  of  feet 
above.  I  must  compel  my  horses,  with  no  warranty  against 
a  stumble  or  a  fall,  along  overhanging  verges,  where  one  slip, 
or  even  one  ungraceful  change  of  foot,  would  topple  the 
stumbler  and  his  burden  down  to  be  hashed  against  jutting 
points,  and  tossed  fragmentary,  food  for  fishes,  in  the  lucid 
pool  below.  For  there  were  salmon  there,  still  working  up 
stream,  seeking  the  purest  and  safest  spots  for  their  future 

Now  all  of  this  was  hard  work,  some  of  it  dangerous. 
It  was  well  that,  in  the  paddock  of  Sowee,  my  horses  had 
filled  themselves  with  elastic  grass,  parent  of  activity  and 
courage.  Caudal,  though  bearing  no  burden  but  himself, 
was  often  tempted  to  despair.  Society,  example,  and  elec- 
tric shocks  of  friendly  castigation  aroused  him.  We  rode 
hard  along  this  wild  gorge,  down  these  dreary  vistas,  up  and 
down  these  vast  barren  bulks  of  mountain.  Forlorn  yellow 
pines,  starveling  children  of  adversity,  gnarled  and  scrubby, 
began  to  appear,  shabby  substitutes  for  the  prosperous  firs 
and  cedars  behind.  But  any  gracefulness  of  vegetation, 
any  feeling  of  adornment,  would  be  out  of  place   among 


those  big,  unrefined  grandeurs.  Beauty  and  grace,  and  all 
conceivable  delicacy  of  form  and  color,  light  and  shade, 
belong  to  the  highest  sublimities  of  Nature.  Tacoma  is  as 
lovely  with  all  the  minor  charms,  as  it  is  divinely  majestic 
by  the  possession  of  the  greater,  and  power  of  combining 
and  harmonizing  the  less.  But  there  is  a  lower  kind  of  sub- 
limity, where  the  predominant  effect  is  one  merely  of  power, 
bigness,  the  gigantesque  and  cyclopean,  rude  force  acting 
disorderly,  and  producing  a  hurly-burly  almost  grotesque. 
Perhaps  sublimity  is  too  noble  a  word  to  apply  to  these  re- 
sults of  ill-regulated  frenzy;  they  are  grand  as  war,  not  noble 
as  peace.  Such  qualities  of  Nature  have  an  educational 
value,  as  legends  of  giants  may  prepare  a  child  to  comprehend 
histories  of  heroes.  The  volcanic  turbulence  of  the  region 
I  was  now  traversing  might  fitly  train  the  mind  to  perceive 
the  want  of  scenes  as  vast  and  calmer;  —  Salvator  Rosa  is 
not  without  significance  among  the  teachers  of  Art. 

No  Pacific  Railroad  in  the  Nachchese  Pass, —  that  my 
coup  d'ceil  assured  me.  Even  the  Boston  hooihut,  with  all 
its  boldness  in  the  forest,  here  could  do  little.  Trees  of  a 
century  may  be  felled  in  an  hour;  crags  of  an  aeon  baffle  a 
cycle.  The  Boston  hooihut  must  worm  its  m.odest  way  in 
and  out  the  gorge,  without  essaying  to  toss  down  precipices 
into  chasms.  My  memory  and  my  hasty  road-book  alike 
fail  me  in  artistic  detail  to  make  pictures  of  that  morning's 
Via  Mala.  My  chief  emotion  was  expressed  in  a  sigh  for 
release.  It  was  one  of  those  unkindly  days  of  summer  when 
sunlight  seems  not  a  smile,  but  a  sneer.  Cruel  heat  was  re- 
flected back  from  wall  to  wall  of  the  pass,  palpitating  to  and 
fro  between  baked,  verdureless,  purple  cliff  on  this  side,  and 
the  hot  harshness  of  opponent  purple  cliff  across  the  stream. 
I  breathed  a  sirocco-like  air  without  pabulum,  without  con- 
stituents of  blood.  I  could  fabricate  a  pale  fury,  an  insane 
nervous  energy,  out  of  this  unwholesome,  fiery  stuff,  but 
no  ardor,  no  joyousness,  no  doffing  aside  of  troublous  care. 
I  could  advance,  and  never  flinch,  because  needs  must;  but 

VIA  MALA.  141 

it  seemed  a  weary,  futile  toil,  to  spur  my  horse  over  the  ugly 
pavements  of  unyielding  rock,  up  over  the  crumbling  brown 
acclivities,  by  perilous  ways  along  the  verge  of  gulfs,  where 
I  could  bend  to  the  right  from  my  saddle,  and  see  the  river 
a  thousand  feet  below.  I  felt  in  this  unlifting  atmosphere, 
unwavering  except  where  it  trembled  over  the  heated  sur- 
faces, no  elation,  as  I  overcame  crest  after  crest  of  mountain 
along  the  path, —  no  excitement,  as  Klale,  the  unerring, 
galloped  me  down  miles  of  break-neck  declivity, —  my 
thundering  squadron  hammering  with  sixteen  legs  on  the 
echoing  crust  of  this  furnace-cover. 

Ever,  "Hyack,"  cried  Loolowcan;  "sia-a-ah  mitlite 
Weenas; — Speed, "cried  the  Frowzy;  "far,  far  lieth  Weenas." 

We  were  now,  just  after  noon,  drawing  out  of  the  chasms 
into  a  more  open  valley,  when,  as  we  wound  through  a  thicket 
of  hazels  near  the  river,  Loolowcan  suddenly  halted,  and 
motioned  me  mysteriously. 

"What  now,  0  protege  of  Talipus?  Is  it  bear  or  Boston 

"Pasaiooks, —  halo  cuitan; — Blanketeer, —  no  horse!" 
said  Loolowcan,  with  astonishment. 

And  there  indeed  was  a  horseless  gentleman,  tossing 
pebbles  into  the  Nachchese,  as  quietly  as  if  he  were  on  the 
Hudson.  What  with  little  medicine  Klickatats,  exploring 
parties,  Boston  hooihuters,  stray  Caudals,  and  unhorsed 
loungers,  the  Nachchese  trail  was  becoming  quite  a  thorough- 

The  stranger  proved  no  stranger;  hardly  even  horseless, 
for  his  mule,  from  a  patch  of  grass  in  the  thicket,  presently 
brayed  welcome  to  my  nags.  The  gentleman  was  one  of 
Captain  McClellan's  party,  come  up  from  their  camp  some 
leagues  farther  down.  He  was  waiting  at  this  rendezvous 
for  the  Captain,  who  was  exploring  another  branch  of  the 
river.  To  a  patroller  of  crowded  city  avenues,  it  may  not 
seem  a  significant  fact  that  a  man  in  a  solitary  trail  met  a 
man.    But  to  me,  a  not  unsociable  being,  travelling  with  a 


half-insolent,  half-indifferent,  jargoning  savage,  down  a 
Via  Mala  of  desolation,  toward  a  realm  of  possibly  unbroth- 
erly  nomads,  an  encounter  by  the  wayside  with  a  man  and 
a  brother  was  a  fact  to  enjoy  and  an  emotion  to  chronicle. 

But  human  sympathy  was  not  dinner  for  my  horses. 
I  must  advance  toward  that  unknown  spot  where,  having 
full  confidence  in  Nature,  I  believed  that  a  table  would  be 
spread  for  them  in  the  wilderness.  "Nature  never  did  de- 
ceive the  heart  that  loved  her;"  for  a  true  lover  becomes  a 
student  of  his  mistress's  character  enough  not  to  demand 
impossibilities.  And  soon  did  that  goddess,  kindly  and 
faithful  object  of  my  lifelong  devotion,  verify  my  trust, 
providing  not  only  fodder  for  my  cavalry,  but  a  bower  for 
my  nooning,  a  breeze  from  above  to  stir  the  dead,  hot  air, 
and  a  landscape  appropriate  to  a  banquet,  and  not  like  the 
cruel  chasms  I  had  passed. 

In  a  patch  of  luxuriant  wild-pea  vines  my  horses  had 
refreshing  change  of  diet,  befitting  the  change  of  region. 
No  monotony  of  scene  or  action  for  man  or  beast  thus  far 
in  this  journey,  no  stagnation  of  mind  or  body  from  unex- 
citing diet.  For  me,  from  the  moment  when  my  vain  ne- 
gotiations began  with  King  George  of  the  Klalams,  life  had 
been  at  its  keenest,  its  readiest,  its  fleetest.  Multitudi- 
nously  besprent  also  with  beauty  like  a  bed  of  pansies  had 
been  these  days  of  dash  and  charge.  My  finer  and  coarser 
aesthetic  faculties  had  been  so  exercised  that,  if  an  unedu- 
cated traveller,  I  might  have  gone  bewildered  with  phan- 
tasmagoria. But  bewilderment  comes  from  superficialness; 
type  thoughts  stripped  of  surface  cloaking  are  compact  as 

My  cam^p  for  present  nooning  was  a  charming  little 
Arcady,  shady,  sunny,  and  verdant.  Two  dense  spruces 
made  pleasant  twanging  to  the  newly-risen  breeze.  These 
were  the  violins  of  my  festival  orchestra  with  strings  self- 
resinous,  while  down  the  caiion  roared  the  growing  gale, 
and,  filling  all  pauses  in  this  aerial  music,  the  Nachchese 



tinkled  merrily,  or  dashed  boisterously,  or  rattled  eagerly. 
"On,  on  with  speed!"  was  the  lesson  hinted  to  me  by  wind 
and  water.  Yet  as  I  cooked  for  dinner  a  brace  of  grouse,  my 
morning's  prey,  I  might  have  allowed  myself  to  yield  to 
vainglorious  dalliance.  The  worser  half  of  my  scamper  was 
behind  me.  "Try  not  the  pass,"  people  had  said;  "you  can- 
not put  your  space  into  your  time,"  said  they,  hinting  also 
at  dangers  of  solitary  travel  with  one  of  the  crafty.    But  I 


had  taken  the  risk,  and  success  was  thus  far  with  me.  Let 
me  now  beware  of  too  much  confidence.  Who  can  say  what 
lurks  in  the  heart  of  Loolowcan?  He  who  persuades  himself 
that  his  difficulties  are  fought  through,  is  but  at  threshold 
of  them.  When  he  winds  the  horn  of  triumph,  perhaps  the 
sudden  ogre  will  appear;  then  woe  be  to  the  knight,  if  he  has 
taken  the  caps  off  his  revolver. 

Loolowcan  and  I  were  smoking  our  pipes  of  tobacco, 
when  the  tramp  of  hoofs  was  heard  along  the  trail,  and,  with 
the  late  skipper  of  stones  and  a  couple  of  soldiers.  Captain 
McClellan  rode  up.    In  vain,  through  the  Nachchese  Canon, 


had  the  Captain  searched  for  a  Pacific  Railroad.  He  must 
search  elsewhere,  along  Snoqualme  Pass  or  other.  Apart 
from  a  pleasant  moment  of  reciprocal  well-wishing,  the 
chief  result  of  this  interview  was,  that  I  became  disembar- 
rassed of  my  treasure- trove  Caudal.  I  seized  the  earliest 
chance  of  restoring  this  chattel  to  Uncle  Sam,  whose  initials 
were  branded  upon  his  flank.  No  very  available  recruit  to 
my  squadron  of  light  horse  was  this  debilitated  keterrypid, 
whom  Good  Samaritanism  compelled  me  to  humanely  en- 
treat. Besides,  I  had  erred  in  his  baptism;  I  had  called  him 
Caudal,  and  he  naturally  endeavored  to  take  his  place  in 
the  rear.     If  I  had  but  thought  to  name  him  Headlong! 

Rest  in  the  shade  of  the  spruces  by  the  buzzing  river  was 
so  sweet,  after  the  severity  of  my  morning's  ride,  that  I 
hesitated  for  myself  and  for  my  unwilling  mustangs  to  re- 
new the  journey.  To  pace  on  an  ambling  mule  over  level 
greensward,  like  a  fat  papal  legate  travelling,  in  mediaeval 
times,  from  refectory  to  refectory, —  that  seems  as  much  as 
one  would  wish  to  do  on  a  hot  afternoon  of  August.  I  shook 
off  such  indolent  thoughts,  and  mounted.  Exertion  is  its 
own  reward.  The  joy  in  the  first  effort  overbalances  the 
delight  of  sloth,  and  the  joy  in  perpetual  effort  is  clear 
gain.  And  really  never  an  ambling  palfrey,  slow-footed 
potterer  under  an  abbot,  interfered  less  with  his  rider's 
quietude  than  Klale,  the  gentle  loper.  We  dragged  ourselves 
from  the  shade  and  the  pea-vines,  and  went  dashing  at  full 
speed  along  the  trail,  no  longer  encumbered  by  fallen  trunks 
and  hurdles  of  bush  and  brier.  Merely  rough,  meagre,  and 
stony  was  the  widening  valley,  and  dotted  over  its  adust 
soil  with  yellow  pines,  standing  apart  in  scraggy  isolation. 

At  five  I  reached  Captain  McClellan's  camp  of  two  tents. 
He  was  not  yet  returned  from  prying  into  some  other  gorge, 
some  purple  cavernous  defile  for  his  railroad  route.  Loo- 
lo wean's  "far  to  Weenas"  the  sergeant  in  charge  interpreted 
to  mean  still  twenty-five  miles.  Their  own  main  body  was 
encamped  in  the  Weenas  valley.     Twenty-five  miles  is  a 

VIA  MALA.  146 

terrible  supplement,  my  horses,  after  the  labors  of  one  day; 
but  ye  still  seem  fresh,  thanks  to  the  paddock  of  Sowee,  and 
the  pea-vines  at  noon,  and  to-morrow  who  knows  but  ye 
may  be  running  free  over  the  plains,  while  I  with  fresh  nags 
go  on  toward  the  Dalles.  We  may  not  therefore  accept  the 
hospitality  of  the  camp,  but  must  on  lustily  down  the  broad 
valley  this  windy  evening  of  summer. 

Every  appogiatura  of  Klale's  galloping  fore-feet  and  hind- 
feet  seemed  doubly  musical  to  me  now.  I  had  escaped;  I 
was  clear  of  the  stern  mountains;  I  was  out  upon  the  great 
surging  prairie-land.  Before  me  all  was  open,  bare,  and  vast. 
To  the  south,  pine  woods  stretched,  like  helmet  crests,  along 
the  tops  and  down  to  the  nodding  fronts  of  brown  hills; 
behind,  the  gloomy  mass  of  the  lower  Cascades  rose  up,  an- 
ticipating sunset.  Distance  and  dimness  shut  up  the  clefts, 
and  made  the  whole  background  one  great  wall,  closing 
avenues  of  return,  and  urging  me  forward  upon  my  east- 
ward  way. 

The  sun  had  gone  down  behind  the  mountains,  had 
paused  on  the  tides  of  Whulge,  had  sunk  in  ocean.  Twi- 
Hght  came,  and  the  wind  grew  mightier,  roaring  after  us 
like  the  voice  of  the  storm  that  baffled  the  hunter  of  hiaqua. 
The  gale  lifted  us  up  over  the  tremendous  wide  rolling 
bulk  of  grassy  surges,  and  we  swept  scudding  into  billowy 
deeps  below. 

In  the  thickening  dusk  I  discerned  an  object, —  not  a 
tree,  not  a  rock;  but  a  mobile  black  object,  scuttling  away 
for  a  belt  of  thicket  near  the  river. 

"A  bear!"  I  cried.    "Itshoot!"  echoed  Loolowcan. 

Nothing  but  grouse-shot  in  my  double-barrel, —  that  I 
handed  to  the  Frowzy;  six  leaden  peppercorns  in  my  eight- 
inch  revolver, —  that  I  kept.  Now,  Klale,  it  is  whether 
Itshoot  or  thou  wilt  first  touch  cover.  Klale  leaped  forward 
like  an  adult  grasshopper.  Bruin,  hearing  hoofs,  lurched 
on  like  a  coal-barge  in  a  tide  bobbery.  I  was  within  thirty 
feet  of  him  when  he  struck  the  bushes.    I  fired.    He  felt  it 


and  with  a  growl  stopped  and  turned  upon  us.  Klale  swerved 
from  those  vicious  claws,  so  that  I  merely  heard  and  felt 
them  rattle  on  my  stirrup,  as  I  fired  again  right  into  the 
bear's  vacant  hug.  Before  I  could  check  and  turn  my  horse, 
Bruin  had  concluded  the  unwelcome  interview.  He  had  dis- 
appeared in  the  dense  thicket.  In  vain  Loolowcan  and  I 
beat  about  in  the  dusk.  The  ursine  dodger  did  not  profit 
by  his  chances  of  ambuscade  to  embrace  one  of  us  and  that 
chance  together.  He  was  not  to  be  found.  Perhaps  I  am 
the  slayer  of  a  bear.  One  shot  at  thirty  feet,  and  one  across 
the  breadth  of  a  handkerchief,  might  possibly  discontinue 
the  days  of  such  shaggy  monster. 

When  we  were  upon  the  trail  again,  and  galloping  faster 
under  the  stars,  I  found  that  I  had  a  new  comic  image  in 
my  mind.  I  roared  with  jolly  laughter,  recalling  how  that 
uncouth  creature  had  clumsily  pawed  at  me,  missing  lacer- 
ation by  an  inch.  Had  Klale  swerved  but  a  little  less,  there 
would  have  been  tragi-comedy  in  this  farce.  In  place  of  the 
buckskins  torn  yesterday,  I  wore  a  pair  of  old  corduroys, 
with  scarlet  cloth  leggins;  Destiny  thought  these  did  not 
need  to  be  farther  incarnadined,  nor  my  shins,  much  abused 
along  the  briery  trail,  to  be  torn  by  any  crueller  thorniness 
of  bear's  claws.  There  was,  however,  underlying  too  ex- 
travagant fun,  this  sense  of  escape  from  no  fun.  Nature 
will  not  allow  even  her  grotesque  creatures  to  be  quite  scof- 
fed at.  Bears  may  be  laughable,  but  they  are  not  ridicu- 
lous. I  have  been  contiguous  to  an  uncaged  bear  in  free 
clutching  trim  but  this  once,  and  I  respect  him  too  much  to 
laugh  at  him  to  his  face.  With  him  I  could  laugh  when  he 
is  in  humorous  mood,  but  at  Bruin  I  laugh  no  more. 

By  the  time  I  had  thus  reasoned  out  the  lesson  of  my 
bear-fight,  darkness  had  come.  The  exhilaration  of  night- 
air  revived  my  horses.  They  guided  themselves  bravely 
along  the  narrow  way,  and  bravely  climbed  the  lift  and 
sway  of  land  surges.  Yet  over  these  massive  undulations 
we  could  travel  but  slowly.    When  it  might,  the  trail  fol- 

VIA  MALA.  147 

lowed  the  terrace  above  the  Nachchese.  Often  wherever 
the  trail  might  choose  to  follow,  we  might  not  follow  it  in 
the  dark.  Stony  arroyos  would  cut  it  in  twain,  or  a  patch 
of  wild-sage  bushes  or  a  belt  of  hazels  and  alders  send  it 
astray.  Then  would  Loolowcan  open  wide  his  dusky  eyes, 
to  collect  every  belated  glimmer  of  twilight,  and  zigzag 
until  again  he  found  the  clew  of  our  progress.  While  he 
searched,  Klale  and  Antipodes  took  large  morsels  of  epicu- 
rean bunch-grass,  in  convenient  tufts,  a  generous  mouthful 
in  each. 

It  grew  harder  and  harder  to  find  the  permanent  narrow 
wake  of  voyagers  beforetime  over  the  great  ground-swells 
of  this  unruly  oceanic  scope  of  earth.  Mariners  may  cut 
their  own.  hooihut  over  the  hilly  deep  by  the  stars.  Terrene 
travellers  cannot  thus  independently  reject  history;  they 
must  humble  themselves  to  be  followers  where  tribes  have 
tramped  before.  Even  such  condescension  may  not  avail 
when  night  is  master.  Loolowcan,  though  eager  as  I  to 
press  on,  finally  perforce  admitted  that  we  lost  our  way  in 
the  thickets  and  over  the  gravel  oftener  than  we  found  it; 
that  the  horses  flagged  sadly,  and  we  must  stop. 

It  was  one  of  those  cloudless  gales,  when  it  seems  as 
if  the  globe  is  whirring  on  so  fast  beneath  the  stars,  that  air 
must  use  its  mightiest  force  of  wing  lest  it  be  left  a  laggard. 
In  moments  of  stillness,  while  the  flapping  of  these  enormous 
pinions  ceased,  and  the  gale  Vv'ent  gliding  on  by  impetus, 
we  could  hear  the  far-away  rumble  of  the  river.  Sound  is 
only  second  to  sight  as  a  guide  out  of  darkness.  The  music 
of  a  stream,  singing  with  joy  that  it  knows  its  way,  is  pleas- 
anter  guidance  than  the  bark  of  village  cur,  who,  though 
he  bite  not  because  he  bark,  may  have  a  brother  deputed 
to  do  that  rougher  mouthing.  Following,  then,  the  sound, 
we  presently  came  upon  the  source  of  sound,  the  Nachchese. 

Sky  and  stars  are  a  peaceful  shelter  over  a  bivouac;  yet 
when  between  the  would-be  sleeper  and  that  friendly  roof 
there  is  a  tumultuous  atmosphere  misbehaving  itself,  sleep 


is  torn  up  and  whirled  away  in  tatters.  We  must  have  some 
bulwark  against  the  level  sweep  of  the  gale;  and  must  pay 
for  getting  it  by  losing  something  else.  Upon  the  bank  we 
could  have  a  bed  level  and  earthy,  but  wind-battered;  under 
the  bank  we  could  lie  sheltered,  but  must  lie  on  pebbles. 
On  pebble  boulders  we  must  make  our  couch,  where  water 
at  higher  stages  had  washed  away  all  the  soft  packing  of 

We  left  the  horses  to  occupy  the  bank  above,  where  they 
could  sup  on  succulent  bunch-grass,  firm  and  juicy  as  well- 
cured  hay.     Much  as  we  regretted  abridging  their  freest 

Carved  Stone  Club-head  or  Net-sinker,  from  Priest  Rapids,  Wash. 
One-third   natural    size. 

liberty  of  repose,  we  were  obliged  to  hobble  them  lest  they 
should  go  with  the  wind  down  the  valley,  and  at  morn  be 
leagues  away.  If  a  man  wishes  speed,  he  must  take  precau- 
tions that  speed  do  not  fly  away  from  him.  Civilization 
without  its  appliances  is  weaker  than  barbarism. 

No  gastronomic  facts  of  our  camp  below  the  Nachchese; 
supper  was  much  lower  than  secondary  to  rest.  We  had 
been  full  sixteen  difficult  hours  in  the  saddle.  Nights  of 
my  life,  not  a  few,  have  been  wretched  in  feather  beds  for 
too  much  softness;  stem  hardness  was  to  be  the  cause  of 



other  misery  here.  This  night  cobble-stones  must  be  my  bed, 
a  boulder  pillow  for  my  head.  My  couch  was  uneven  as  a 
rippled  lake  suddenly  congealed.  A  being  not  molluscous, 
but  humanly  bony,  and  muscular  over  bonyness,  cannot  for 
hours  beat  upon  pebbles  unbruised.  So  I  had  a  night  of 
weary  unrest.  The  wild  rush  of  the  river  and  noise  of  the 
gale  ran  through  my  turbid  sleep  in  dreams  of  tramping  bat- 
talions,—  such  as  a  wounded  and  fevered  man,  lying  un- 
helped  on  a  battle-field,  might  dream. 

Yet  let  us  always  be  just.  There  are  things  to  be  said 
in  behalf  of  cobble-stone  beds  by  rivers  of  the  Northwest. 
I  was  soft  to  the  rocks,  if  not  they  to  me.  I  have  heard  of 
regions  where  one  may  find  that  he  slept  cheek  by  jowl  with 
a  cobra  di  capella.  These  are  absent  from  the  uninviting 
bed  of  cobble-stones  by  the  Nachchese,  and  so  are  mosquitos, 
rattlesnakes,  burglars,  and  the  cry  of  fire.  Negative  ad- 
vantages these.  Consider  also  the  positive  good  to  a  man, 
that,  having  been  thoroughly  toughened  by  hardness,  he 
knows  what  the  body  of  him  is  strong  to  be,  to  do,  and  to 
suffer.  Furthermore,  one  after  experience  of  a  pummelling 
couch,  like  this,  will  sympathize  sufiiciently,  and  yet  not 
morbidly,  with  the  poor  bedless.  So  I  slept,  or  did  not  sleep, 
while  the  gale  roared  wildly  all  night,  and  was  roaring  still 
at  dawn. 

Potlatch  House  of  the  Lummi  Indians. 



People  cloddish,  stagnant,  and  mundane,  such  as  most 
of  us  are,  pretend  to  prefer  sunset  to  sunrise,  just  as  we 
fancy  the  past  greater  than  the  present,  and  repose  nobler 
than  action.  Few  are  radical  enough  in  thought  to  perceive 
the  great  equalities  of  beauty  and  goodness  in  phenomena 
of  nature  or  conditions  of  life.  Now  I  saw  a  sunrise  after 
my  night  by  the  Nachchese,  which,  on  the  side  of  sunrise, 
it  is  my  duty  to  mention. 

Having  therefore  put  in  my  fact,  that  on  a  morning  of 
August,  in  the  latter  half  of  the  nineteenth  century,  sunrise 
did  its  duty  with  splendor,  I  have  also  done  my  duty  as  an 
observer.  The  simple  statement  of  a  fact  is  enough  for  the 
imaginative,  who  will  reproduce  it  for  themselves,  accord- 
ing to  their  experience;  the  docile  unimaginative  will  buy 
alarm-clocks  and  study  dawns.  Yet  I  give  a  few  coarse  de- 
tails as  a  work  of  supererogation. 

If  I  had  slept  but  faintly,  the  cobble-stones  had  purveyed 
me  a  substitute  for  sleep  by  hammering  me  senseless;  so 
that  when  the  chill  before  dawn  smote  me,  and  I  became 
conscious,  I  felt  that  I  needed  consolation.  Consolation 
came.  I  saw  over  against  me,  across  the  river,  a  hill  blue 
as  hope,  and  seemingly  far  away  in  the  gray  distance.  Light 
flushed  upward  from  the  horizon,  meeting  no  obstacles  of 
cloud,  to  be  kindled  and  burnt  away  into  white  ashiness. 
Light  came  up  the  valley  over  the  dark,  surging  hills.  Full 
in  the  teeth  of  the  gale  it  came,  strong  in  its  delicacy,  surely 
victorious,  as  a  fine  scimitar  against  a  blundering  bludgeon. 


Where  light  and  wind  met  on  the  crest  of  an  earth-billow, 
there  the  grass  shook  like  glittering  spray.  Meanwhile 
the  hill  opposite  was  drawing  nearer,  and  all  the  while  taking 
a  fuller  blue.  Blue  passed  into  deep  scintillating  purple, 
rich  as  the  gold-powdered  robe  of  an  Eastern  queen.  As 
daylight  grew  older,  it  was  strong  enough  to  paint  detail 
without  sacrificing  effect;  the  hill  took  its  place  of  neighbor- 
hood, upright  and  bold,  a  precipitous  front  of  warm,  brown 
basalt,  with  long  cavities,  freshly  cleft,  where  prisms  had 
fallen,  striping  the  brown  with  yellow.  First  upon  the 
summit  of  this  cliff  the  sunbeams  alighted.  Thence  they 
pounced  upon  the  river,  and  were  whirled  along  upon  its 
breakers,  carrying  light  down  to  flood  the  valley.  In  the 
vigorous  atmosphere  of  so  brilliant  a  daybreak  I  divined 
none  of  the  difficulties  that  were  before  sunset  to  befall  me. 

By  this  we  were  in  the  saddle,  following  the  sunlight  rush 
of  the  stream.  StifRsh,  after  passing  the  night  hobbled, 
were  the  steeds,  as  bruised  after  boulder  beds  were  the  cav- 
aliers. But  Loolowcan,  the  unimpassioned,  was  now  aroused. 
Here  was  the  range  of  his  nomad  life.  Anywhere  hereabouts 
he  might  have  had  his  first  practice-lessons  in  horse-stealing. 
His  foot  was  on  his  native  bunch-grass.  Those  ridges  far 
away  to  the  northeast  must  be  passed  to  reach  Weenas. 
Beyond  those  heights,  to  the  far  south,  is  Atinam  and  "Le 
Play  House,"  the  mission.  Thus  far  time  and  place  have 
made  good  the  description  of  the  eloquent  Owhhigh.* 

Presently  in  a  small  plain  appeared  a  horse,  hobbled  and 
lone  as  a  loon  on  a  lake.  Have  we  acquired  another  master- 
less  estray?  Not  so.  Loolowcan  uttered  a  peculiar  trilo- 
bated  yelp,  and  forth  from  an  ambush,  where  he  had  dodged, 
crept  the  shabbiest  man  in  the  world.  Shabby  are  old-clo' 
men  in  the  slums  of  Brummagem;  shabbier  yet  are  Mor- 

*"Le  Play  House"  is  probably  Loolowcan's  attempt  at  the  French 
"le  prete"  priest.  However,  as  the  Indian  tongue  converted  r  into  1, 
it  may  represent  his  effort  to  say  the  "pray  house."  As  the  priests  in 
charge  of  the  Atanum  Mission  spoke  French,  the  former  explanation 
is  the  more  likely. 


mons  at  the  tail  of  an  emigration.  But  among  the  seediest 
ragamuffins  in  the  most  unsavory  corners  I  have  known,  I 
find  no  object  that  can  compare  with  this  root-digging 
KHckatat,  as  at  Loolowcan's  signal-yelp  he  crept  from  his 
lair  among  the  willows.  His  attire  merits  attention  as  the 
worst  in  the  world. 

The  moccasins  of  Shabbiest  had  been  long  ago  another's, 
probably  many  another  Klickatat's.  Many  a  coyote  had 
appropriated  them  after  they  were  thrown  away  as  defunct, 
and,  after  gnawing  them  in  selfish  solitude,  every  coyote 
had  turned  away  unsatisfied  with  their  flavor.  Then  Shab- 
biest stepped  forward,  and  claimed  the  treasure-trove. 
He  must  have  had  a  decayed  ingenuity;  otherwise  how 
with  thongs,  with  willow  twigs,  with  wisps  of  grass  and  per- 
sistent gripe  of  toe,  did  he  compel  those  tattered  footpads  to 
remain  among  his  adherents? 

Breeches  none  had  Shabbiest;  leggings  none;  shirt  equally 
none  to  speak  of.    But  a  coat  he  had,  and  one  of  many  colors. 

Days  before,  on  the  waters  of  Whulge,  I  had  seen  a  sad 
coat  on  the  back  of  that  rusty  and  fuddled  chieftain,  the  Duke 
of  York,  Nature  gently  tempers  our  experience  to  us  as  we  are 
able  to  bear.  The  Duke's  coat  was  my  most  deplorable  vision 
in  coats  until  its  epoch,  but  it  had  educated  me  to  lower 
possibilities.  Ages  ago,  when  this  coat  was  a  new  and  lively 
snuff-color,  Garrick  was  on  the  stage,  Goldsmith  was  buying 
his  ridiculous  peach-blossom,  in  shape  like  this,  if  this  were 
ever  shapely.  In  the  odors  that  exhaled  from  it  there  seemed 
an  under  stratum  of  London  coffee-houses.  Who  knows  but 
He  of  Bolt  Court,  slovenly  He  of  the  Dictionary,  may  not 
have  been  guilty  of  its  primal  grease-spot?  And  then  how 
that  habiliment  became  of  a  duller  snuff-color;  how  grease- 
spots  oozed  each  into  its  neighbor's  sphere  of  attraction; 
how  one  of  its  inheritors,  after  familiarizing  it  with  the  gutter, 
pawned  it  one  foggy  November  day,  when  London  was 
swallowing  cold  pea-soup  instead  of  atmosphere;  how,  the 
pawner  never  coming  to  redeem,  the  pawnee  sold  it  to  an 


American  prisoner  of  the  Revolution,  to  carry  home  with 
him  to  Boston,  his  native  village;  how  a  degraded  scion  of 
the  family  became  the  cook  of  Mr.  Astor's  ill-fated  ship, 
the  Tonquin,  and  swopped  it  with  a  Chinook  chief  for  four 
otter-skins;  and  how  from  shabby  Chinook  to  shabbier  it 
had  passed,  until  Shabbiest  got  it  at  last; —  all  these  adven- 
tures, every  eventful  scene  in  this  historic  drama,  was  writ- 
ten in  multiform  inscription  all  over  this  time-stained  ruin, 
so  that  an  expert  observer  might  read  the  tale  as  a  geologist 
reads  eras  of  the  globe  in  a  slab  of  fossiliferous  limestone. 

Such  was  the  attire  of  Shabbiest,  and  as  such  he  began  a 
powwow  with  Loolowcan.  The  compatriots  talked  em- 
phatically, with  the  dull  impulsiveness,  the  calm  fury,  of 
Indians.  I  saw  that  I,  my  motions,  and  my  purposes  were 
the  subject  of  their  discourse.  Meanwhile  I  stood  by,  some- 
what bored,  and  a  little  curious. 

At  last,  he  of  the  historical  coat  turned  to  me,  and, 
raising  his  arms,  one  sleeveless,  one  fringed  with  rags  at  the 
shoulder,  delivered  at  me  a  harangue,  in  the  most  jerky  and 
broken  Chinook.  Given  in  broken  English,  corresponding, 
its  purport  was  as  follows. 

Shabbiest  loquitur,  in  a  naso-guttural  choke: — "What 
you  white  man  want  get  'em  here?  Why  him  no  stay  Boston 
country?  Me  stay  my  country;  no  ask  you  come  here.  Too 
much  soldier  man  go  all  round  everywhere.  Too  much 
make  pop-gun.  Him  say  kill  bird,  kill  bear, —  sometime 
him  kill  Indian.  Soldier  man  too  much  shut  eye,  open  eye 
at  squaw.  Squaw  no  like;  s'pose  squaw  like,  Indian  man 
no  like  nohow.  Me  no  understand  white  man.  Plenty 
good  thing  him  country;  plenty  blanket;  plenty  gun;  plenty 
powder;  plenty  horse.  Indian  country  plenty  nothing.  No 
good  Weenas  give  you  horse.  No  good  Loolowcan  go  Dalles. 
Bad  Indian  there.  Small-pox  there.  Very  much  all  bad. 
Me  no  like  white  man  nohow.  S'pose  go  away,  me  like.  Me 
think  all  same  pretty  fine  good.  You  big  chief,  got  plenty 
thing.    Indian  poor,  no  got  nothing.    Howdydo?  Howdydo? 


Want  swop  coat?  Want  swop  horse?  S'pose  give  Indian 
plenty  thing.  Much  good.  Much  very  big  good  great 
chief  white  man!" 

"Indignant  sagamore,"  replied  I,  in  mollifying  tones, 
"you  do  indeed  misunderstand  us  blanketeers.  We  come 
hither  as  friends  for  peace.  No  war  is  in  our  hearts,  but 
kindly  civilizing  influences.  If  you  resist,  you  must  be 
civilized  out  of  the  way.  We  should  regret  your  removal 
from  these  prairies  of  Weenas,  for  we  do  not  see  where  in 
the  world  you  can  go  and  abide,  since  we  occupy  the  Pa- 
cific shore  and  barricade  you  from  free  drowning  privileges. 
Succumb  gracefully,  therefore,  to  your  fate,  my  representa- 
tive redskin.  Do  not  scowl  when  soldier  men,  seai'ching 
for  railroads,  repose  their  seared  and  disappointed  eyeballs 
by  winking  at  your  squaws.  Do  not  long  for  pitfalls  when 
their  cavalry  plod  over  your  kamas  swamps.  Believe  all 
same  very  much  good.  Howdydo?  Howdydo?  No  swop! 
I  cannot  do  you  the  injustice  of  swopping  this  buckskin 
shirt  of  mine,  embroidered  with  porcupine-quills,  for  that 
distinguished  garment  of  yours.  Nor  horse  can  I  swop  in 
fairness;  mine  are  weary  with  travel,  and  accustomed  for  a 
few  days  to  influences  of  mercy.  But,  as  a  memorial  of 
this  pleasant  interview  and  a  testimonial  to  your  eloquent 
speech,  I  should  be  complimented  if  you  would  accept  a 
couple  of  charges  of  powder." 

And,  suiting  act  to  word,  I  poured  him  out  powder, 
which  he  received  in  a  buckskin  rag,  and  concealed  in  some 
shabby  den  of  his  historic  coat.  Shabbiest  seemed  actually 
grateful.  Two  charges  of  powder  were  like  two  soup-tickets 
to  a  starving  man, —  two  dinners  inevitably,  and  possibly, 
according  to  the  size  of  his  mark,  many  dinners,  were  in 
that  black  dust.  He  now  asked  to  see  my  six-shooter,  which 
Loolowcan  had  pointed  at  during  their  vernacular  confidence. 
He  examined  it  curiously,  handling  it  with  some  apprehen- 
sion, as  a  bachelor  does  a  baby. 

"Wake  nika  kumtun  ocook  tenas  musket.    Pose  mika 



mamook  po,  ikta  mika  memloose; — I  no  understand  that 
little  musket.  Suppose  you  make  shoot,  how  many  you 
kill?"  he  asked. 

"Hin,  pose  moxt  tahtilum; — Many,  perhaps  two  tens," 
I  said,  with  mild  confidence. 

This  was  evidently  impressive.  "Hyas  tamanoiis;  big 
magic,"  said  both.     "Wake  cultus  ocook;  no  trifler  that!" 

We  parted,  Shabbiest  to  his  diggings,  we  to  our  trail. 
Hereupon  Loolowcan's  tone  changed  more  and  more.  His 
old  terrors,  real  or  pretended,  awoke.  He  feared  the  Dalles. 
It  was  a  long  journey,  and  I  was  in  such  headlong  haste. 
And  how  could  he  return  from  the  Dalles,  had  we  once 
arrived?  Could  the  son  of  Owhhigh  foot  it?  Never!  Would 
I  give  him  a  horse? 

Obviously  not  at  all  would  I  give  a  horse  to  the  new- 
fledged  dignitary,  I  informed  him,  cooling  my  wrath  at 
these  bulbous  indications  of  treachery,  nurtured  by  the 
talk  of  Shabbiest,  and  ready  to  grow  into  a  full-blown  Judas- 
tree  if  encouraged.  At  last,  by  way  of  incitement  to  greater 
diligence  in  procuring  fresh  horses  for  me  from  the  bands  at 
Weenas,  I  promised  to  hire  one  for  his  return  journey.  But 
Loolowcan  the  Mistrusted,  watching  me  with  disloyal  eyes 
from  under  his  matted  hair,  became  doubly  doubted  by  me 

We  turned  northward,  clomb  a  long,  rough  ridge,  and 
viewed,  beyond,  a  valley  bare  and  broad.  A  strip  of 
Cottonwood  and  shrubs  in  the  middle  announced  a  river, 
Weenas.  This  was  the  expected  locale;  would  the  personnel 
be  as  stationary?  Rivers,  as  it  pleases  nature,  may  run 
away  forever  without  escaping.  Camps  of  nomad  Klick- 
atats,  are  more  evasive.  The  people  of  Owhhigh,  driving 
the  horses  of  Owhhigh,  might  have  decamped.  What  then, 
Loolowcan,  son  of  a  horse-thief?  Can  your  talents  aid  me 
in  substituting  a  fresher  for  Gubbins  drooping  for  thy 

Far  away  down  the  valley,  where  I  could  see  them  only 


as  one  sees  lost  Pleiads  with  telescopic  vision,  were  a  few 
white  specks.  Surely  the  tents  of  Boston  soldier  tilicum, 
winkers  at  squaws  and  thorns  in  the  side  of  Shabbiest, —  a 
refuge  if  need  be  there,  thought  I.  Loolowcan  turned  away 
to  the  left,  leading  me  into  the  upper  valley. 

We  soon  discovered  the  fact,  whatever  its  future  worth 
might  be,  that  horses  were  feeding  below.  Presently  a 
couple  of  lodges  defined  themselves  rustily  against  the  thick- 
ets of  Weenas.  A  hundred  horses,  roans,  calicos,  sorrels, 
iron-grays,  blacks  and  whites,  were  nipping  bunch-grass  on 
the  plain.  My  weary  trio,  wearier  this  hot  morning  for  the 
traverse  of  the  burnt  and  shaggy  ridge  above  Weenas,  were 
enlivened  at  sight  of  their  fellows,  and  sped  toward  them 
companionably.  But  the  wild  cavalcade,  tossing  disdain- 
ful heads  and  neighing  loudly,  dashed  off  in  a  rattling  stam- 
pede; then  paused  curiously  till  we  came  near,  and  then  were 
off  again,  the  lubberly  huddling  along  far  in  the  rear  of  the 
front  caracolers. 

We  dismounted,  and  tethered  our  wayfarers  each  to  a 
bush,  where  he  might  feed,  but  not  fly  away  to  saddleless 
freedom  with  the  wild  prairie  band.  We  entered  the  nearer 
and  larger  of  the  two  lodges. 

Worldlings,  whether  in  palaces  of  Cosmopolis  or  lodges 
of  the  siwashes,  do  not  burn  incense  before  the  absolute 
stranger.  He  must  first  establish  his  claims  to  attention. 
No  one  came  forth  from  the  lodges  to  greet  us.  No  one 
showed  any  sign  of  curiosity  or  welcome  as  we  entered. 
Squalid  were  these  huts  of  squalid  tenancy.  Architecture 
does  not  prevail  .as  yet  on  the  American  continent,  and  per- 
haps less  among  the  older  races  of  the  western  regions  than 
among  the  newer  comers  Bostonward.  These  habitations 
were  structures  of  roughly  split  boards,  leaning  upon  a 

Five  foul  copper-heads  and  bodies  of  men  lurked  among 
the  plunder  of  that  noisomie  spot.  Several  squaws  were 
searching  for  gray  hairs  in  the  heads  of  several  children. 


One  infant,  evidently  malcontent,  was  being  flat-headed. 
This  fashionable  martyr  was  papoosed  in  a  tight-swathing 
wicker-work  case.  A  broad  pad  of  buckskin  compressed  its 
facile  skull  and  brain  beneath.  If  there  is  any  reason  why 
the  Northwest  Indians  should  adopt  the  configuration  of 
idiots,  none  such  is  known  to  me.  A  roundhead  Klickatat 
woman  would  be  a  pariah.  The  ruder  sex  are  not  quite  so 
elaborately  beautified,  or  possibly  their  brains  assert  them- 
selves more  actively  in  later  life  against  the  distortion  of 


WAKEMA  :     Aged  Klickitat  Squaw. 

childhood.  The  Weenas  papoose,  victim  of  aboriginal  ideas 
in  the  plastic  art,  was  hung  up  in  a  corner  of  the  lodge,  and 
but  for  the  blinking  of  its  beady  black  eyes,  almost  crowded 
out  of  its  head  by  the  tight  pad,  and  now  and  then  a  feeble 
howl  of  distress,  I  should  have  thought  it  a  laughable  image, 
the  pet  fetish  of  these  shabby  devotees.  Sundry  mats, 
blankets,  skins,  and  dirty  miscellanies  furnished  this  pop- 
ulous abode. 

Loolowcan  was  evidently  at  home  among  these  com- 
patriots, frowzier  even  than  he.    He  squatted  among  them, 


sans  gene,  and  lighted  his  pipe.  One  of  the  ladies  did  the 
honors,  and  motioned  me  to  a  seat  upon  a  rusty  bear-skin. 
It  instantly  began  biting  me  virulently  through  my  cor- 
duroys; whereat  I  exchanged  it  for  a  mat,  soon  equally  car- 
nivorous. Odors  very  villanous  had  made  their  settlement 
in  this  congenial  spot.  An  equine  fragrance  such  as  no  es- 
sence could  have  overcom.e,  pervaded  the  masculine  group. 
From  the  gynseceum  came  a  perfume,  hard  to  decipher, 
until  I  bethought  me  how  Governor  Ogden,  at  Fort  Van- 
couver of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  with  a  cruelly  wag- 
gish wink  to  me,  had  persuaded  the  commissary  of  the  rail- 
road party  to  buy  twelve  dozen  quarts  of  Macassar,  as 
presents  for  the  Indians.* 

"Fair  and  softly"  is  the  motto  of  a  siwash  negotiation. 
Why  should  they,  in  their  monotonous  lives,  sacrifice  a  new 
sensation  by  hurry?  The  five  copper-skins  "first  eyed  me 
over"  with  lazy  thoroughness.  They  noted  my  arms  and 
equipment.  When  they  had  thus  taken  my  measure  by 
the  eye,  they  appealed  to  my  guide  for  historical  facts;  they 
would  know  my  whence,  my  whither,  my  wherefore,  and 
his  share  in  my  past  and  my  future. 

Loolowcan  droned  a  sluggish  tale,  to  whose  points  of 
interest  they  grunted  applause  between  puffs  of  smoke. 
Then  there  was  silence  and  a  tendency  toward  slumber  de- 
clared itself  among  them;  their  minds  needed  repose  after 
so  unusual  a  feast  of  ideas.  Here  I  protested.  I  expressed 
my  emphatic  surprise  to  Loolowcan,  that  he  was  not  urgent 
in  fulfilling  the  injunctions  of  my  friend  the  mighty  Owh- 
high,  and  his  own  agreement  to  procure  horses.  The  quad- 
rupeds were  idle,  and  I  was  good  pay.  A  profitable  bargain 
was  possible. 

The  spokesman  of  the  party,  and  apparently  owner  of 
the  lodge  and  horses,  was  an  olyman  siwash,  an  old  savage, 

*It  is  only  fair  to  Gen.  Hodges,  McClellan's  adjutant  and  com- 
missary, to  say  that  he  declines  to  admit  any  share  in  this  delicate  at- 
tention to  the  ladies  of  Wenas!    See  Appendix  C. 


totally  unwashed  from  boyhood  up,  and  dressed  in  du-ty 
buckskin.  Loolowcan,  in  response  to  my  injunctions,  ap- 
pealed to  him.  declined  expediting  me.  He  would 
not  lend,  nor  swop,  nor  sell  horses.  There  was  no  mode  for 
the  imparting  of  horses,  temporarily  or  permanently,  that 
pleased  him.  His  sentiments  on  the  subject  of  Boston  vis- 
itors were  like  those  of  Shabbiest.  All  my  persuasions  he 
qualified  as  "Cultus  wah  wah;  idle  talk."  Not  very  polite 
are  thy  phrases,  Olyman  head  man  of  Stenchville  on  Weenas. 
At  the  same  time  he  and  the  four  in  chorus  proposed  to 
Loolowcan  to  abandon  me.  Olyman  alone  talked  Chinook 
jargon;  the  other  four  sat,  involved  in  their  dirty  cotton 
shirts,  waiting  for  interpretation,  and  purred  assent  or  dis- 
sent,—  yea,  to  all  the  insolence  of  Olyman;  nay,  to  every 
suggestion  of  mine.  Toward  me  and  my  plans  the  meeting 
was  evidently  sulky  and  inclement. 

Loolowcan,  however,  did  not  yet  desert  his  colors.  He 
made  the  supplementary  proposition  that  Olyman  should 
hire  us  a  sumpter  horse,  on  which  he  the  luxurious  Loolowcan, 
disdainer  of  pedestrians,  miight  prance  back  from  the  far- 
away Dalles.  I  was  very  willing  on  any  conditions  to  add 
another  quadruped  to  my  trio.  They  all  flagged  after  the 
yesterday's  work,  and  Gubbins  seemed  ready  to  fail. 

While  this  new  question  v/as  pending,  a  lady  came  to  my 
aid.  The  prettiest  and  wisest  of  the  squaws  paused  in  her 
researches,  and  camie  forward  to  join  the  council.  This 
beauty  of  the  Klickatats  thought  hiring  the  horse  an  ad- 
mirable scheme.  "Loolowcan,"  said  she,  "can  take  the  con- 
sideration-money, and  buy  me'ikta,'what  not,  at  the  Dalles." 
This  suggestion  of  the  Light  of  the  Harem  touched  Olyman. 
He  rose,  and  com.manded  the  assistance  of  the  shirt-clad 
quartette.  They  loungingly  surrounded  the  band  of  horses, 
and  with  whoops  and  throwing  of  stones  drove  them  into 
a  corral,  near  the  lodges.  Olyman  then  produced  a  hide 
lasso,  and  tossed  its  loop  over  the  head  of  a  roan,  the  stereo- 
scopic counterpart  of  Gubbins. 


Meantime  Loolowcan  had  driven  up  my  horses.  I  or- 
dered him  to  tie  Antipodes  and  Gubbins  together  by  the 
head,  with  my  long  hide  lariat.  The  manner  of  all  the  In- 
dians was  so  intolerably  insolent,  that  I  still  expected  trouble. 
My  cavalry,  I  resolved,  should  be  well  in  hand.  I  flung  the 
bight  of  the  lariat  with  a  double  turn  over  the  horn  of  my 
saddle  and  held  Klale,  my  quiet  friend,  by  his  bridle.  My 
three  horses  were  thus  under  complete  control. 

The  roan  was  brought  forward.  But  again  an  evil  genius 
among  the  Indians  interfered,  and  growled  a  few  poisonous 
words  into  the  ear  of  Olyman.  Olyman  doubled  his  demand 
for  his  horse.  I  refused  to  be  imposed  upon,  with  an  in- 
cautious expression  of  opinion  on  the  subject.  The  Indians 
talked  with  ferocious  animation  for  a  moment,  and  then 
retired  to  the  lodge.  The  women  and  children  who  had  been 
spectators  immediately  in  a  body  marched  off,  and  disap- 
peared in  the  thickets.  Ladies  do  not  leave  the  field  when 
amicable  entertainment  is  on  the  cards. 

But  why  should  I  tarry  after  negotiation  had  failed?  I 
ordered  Loolowcan  to  mount  and  lead  the  way.  He  said 
nothing,  but  stood  looking  at  me,  as  if  I  were  another  and 
not  myself,  his  recent  friend  and  comrade.  There  was  a 
new  cast  of  expression  in  his  dusky  eyes. 

At  this  moment  the  Indians  came  forth  from  the  lodge. 
They  came  along  in  a  careless,  lounging  way,  but  every  rag- 
amuffin was  armed.  Three  had  long  single-barrel  guns  of 
the  Indian  pattern.  One  bore  a  bow  and  arrows.  The  fifth 
carried  a  knife,  half  concealed,  and,  as  he  came  near,  slipped 
another  furtively  into  the  hand  of  Loolowcan. 

What  next?  A  fight?  Or  a  second  sham-fight,  like  that 
of  Whulge? 

I  stood  with  my  back  to  a  bush,  with  my  gun  leaning 
against  my  left  arm,  where  my  bridle  hung;  my  bowie-knife 
was  within  convenient  reach,  and  I  amused  myself  during 
these  instants  of  expectancy  by  abstractedly  turning  over 
the   cylinder   of   my   revolver.     "Another   adventure,"    I 


thought,  "where  this  compact  machine  will  be  available  to 
prevent  or  punish." 

Loolowcan  now  stepped  forward,  and  made  me  a  brief, 
neat  speech,  full  of  facts.  Meanwhile  those  five  copper- 
heads watched  me,  as  I  have  seen  a  coterie  of  wolves,  squatted 
just  out  of  reach,  watch  a  wounded  buffalo,  who  made  front 
to  them.  There  was  not  a  word  in  Loolowcan's  speech  about 
the  Great  Spirit,  or  his  Great  Father,  or  the  ancient  wrongs 
of  the  red  man,  or  the  hunting-grounds  of  the  blest,  or  fire- 
water, or  the  pipe  of  peace.  Nor  was  the  manner  of  his 
oration  lofty,  proud,  and  chieftainly,  as  might  befit  the  son 
of  Owhhigh.  Loolowcan  spoke  like  an  insolent  varlet,  ready 
to  be  worse  than  insolent,  and  this  was  the  burden  of  his  lay. 

"Wake  nika  klatawah  copa  Dalles;  I  won't  go  to  Dalles. 
Nika  mitlite  Weenas;  I  stay  Weenas.  Alta  mika  payee  nika 
chickamin  pe  ikta;  now  you  pay  me  my  money  and  things." 

This  was  the  result  then, —  my  plan  shot  dead,  my  con- 
fidence betrayed.  This  frowzy  liar  asking  me  payment  for 
his  treachery,  and  backing  his  demand  with  knives  and  guns! 

Wrath  mastered  me.     Prudence  fled. 

I  made  my  brief  rejoinder  speech,  thrusting  into  it  all 
the  billingsgate  I  knew.    My  philippic  ran  thus: — 

"Kamooks,  mika  kliminwhit ;  dog,  you  have  lied. 
Cultus  si  wash,  wake  Owhhigh  tenas;  paltry  savage,  no  son 
of  Owhhigh!  Kallapooya;  a  Kallapooya  Indian,  a  groveller. 
Skudzilaimoot;  a  nasty  varmint.  Tenas  mika  tum  tum; 
cowardly  is  thy  heart.  Quash  klatawah  copa  Dalles;  afraid 
to  go  to  Dalles.  Nika  mamook  paper  copa  squally  tyee 
pe  spose  mika  chaco  yaquah  yaka  skookoom  mamook  stick; 
I  shall  write  a  paper  to  the  master  of  Nisqually  (if  I  ever  get 
out  of  this),  and  suppose  you  go  there,  he  will  lustily  apply 
the  rod." 

Loolowcan  winced  at  portions  of  this  discourse.  He 
seemed  ready  to  pounce  upon  me  with  the  knife  he  grasped. 

And  now  as  to  pay,  "Hyas  pultin  mika;  a  great  fool  art 
thou,  to  suppose  that  I  can  be  bullied  into  paying  thee  for 


bringing  me  out  of  my  way  to  desert  me.    No  go,  no  pay." 

"Wake  nika  memloose;  I  no  die  for  the  lack  of  it,"  said 
Loolowcan,  with  an  air  of  unapproachable  insolence. 

Having  uttered  my  farewell,  I  waited  to  see  what  these 
filthy  braves  would  do,  after  their  scowling  looks  and  threat- 
ening gestures.  If  battle  comes,  thou,  0  Loolowcan,  wilt 
surely  go  to  some  hunting-grounds  in  the  other  world, 
whether  blest  or  curst.  Thou  at  least  never  shalt  ride  Gub- 
bins  as  master;  never  wallop  Antipodes  as  brutal  master; 
nor  in  murderous  revelry  devour  the  relics  of  my  pork,  my 
hardtack,  and  my  tongues.  It  will  be  hard  if  I,  with  eight 
shots  and  a  slasher,  cannot  make  sure  of  thee  to  dance  before 
me,  as  guide,  down  the  defiles  of  purgatory. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  All  the  apropos  remarks 
had  been  made.  The  spokesmen  of  civilization  and  bar- 
barism had  each  had  their  say.  Action  rather  halted.  No 
one  was  willing  to  take  the  initiative.  Whether  the  Stench- 
villians  proposed  to  attack  or  not,  they  certainly  would  not 
do  it  while  I  was  so  thoroughly  on  my  guard.  Colonel  Colt, 
quiet  as  he  looked,  represented  to  them  an  indefinite  slaughter 

I  must  myself  make  the  move.  I  threw  Klale's  bridle 
over  his  neck,  and,  grasping  the  horn,  swung  myself  into  the 
saddle,  as  well  as  I  could  with  gun  in  one  hand  and  pistol  in 
the  other. 

The  Klickatats  closed  in.  One  laid  hold  of  Antipodes. 
The  vicious-looking  Mephistophiles  with  the  knife  leaped 
to  Klale's  head  and  made  a  clutch  at  the  rein.  But  Colonel 
Colt,  with  Cyclopean  eyeball,  was  looking  him  full  in  the 
face.  He  dropped  the  bridle,  and  fell  back  a  step.  I  dug 
both  spurs  into  Klale  with  a  yell.  Antipodes  whirled  and 
lashed  at  his  assailant  with  dangerous  hoofs.  Gubbins 
started.    Klale  reared  and  bolted  forward. 

We  had  scattered  the  attacking  party,  and  were  ofif. 


Towing  a  horse  on  each  side,  by  a  rope  turned  about  my 
saddle-horn,  I  moved  but  slowly.  For  a  hundred  yards  I 
felt  a  premonitory  itching  in  my  spine,  as  of  arrow  in  the 
marrow.  I  would  not  deign  to  turn.  If  vis  a  tergo  came, 
I  should  discover  it  soon  enough.  I  felt  no  inclination  to 
see  anything  more  of  any  Indians,  ever,  anywhere.  I  was  in 
raging  ^Tath;  too  angry  as  yet  to  be  at  a  loss  for  the  future; 
too  furious  to  despond. 

Whatever  might  now  befall,  I  was  at  least  free  of  Loolow- 
can  the  Frowzy.  As  to  mutual  benefit,  we  were  nearly  quits. 
He  had  had  from  me  a  journey  home  and  several  days  of  ban- 
queting; I  from  him  guidance  hither.  He  had  at  last  de- 
serted me,  shabbily,  with  assassination  in  his  wishes;  but  I 
had  not  paid  him,  had  vilipended  him,  and  taken  myself  off 
unharmed.  Withal  I  was  disappointed.  My  type  Indian, 
one  in  the  close  relations  of  comrade,  had  failed  me.  It  is 
a  bitter  thing  to  a  man  to  find  that  he  has  thrown  away  even 
a  minor  measure  of  friendship  or  love  upon  a  meaner  nature. 
I  could  see  what  the  traitor  influences  were,  but  why  could 
he  not  resist,  and  be  plucky,  honorable,  and  a  fine  fellow? 
Why  cannot  all  the  pitiful  be  noble? 

What  saved  me  from  massacre  by  the  citizens  of  Weenas 
was  not,  I  suppose,  my  six-shooter,  not  my  double-barrel, 
not  my  bowie, —  though  each  had  its  influence  on  the  minds 
of  Indians, —  but  the  neighborhood  of  the  exploring  camp. 
Much  as  Shabbiest  and  Olyman  disliked  these  intruders, 
they  feared  them  more.    Loolowcan  also  felt  that  he  was 


responsible  for  my  safety,  and  that,  if  I  disappeared,  some 
one  would  ask  him  the  inevitable  question,  where  had  he 
put  me.  The  explorers,  not  having  had  much  success  in 
finding  a  railroad,  would  be  entertained  with  an  opportu- 
nity for  other  researches.  Yet  the  temptation  to  six  siwashes 
to  butcher  one  Boston  man,  owner  of  three  passable  horses 
and  valuable  travelling  gear,  is  so  great,  and  siwash  power 
to  resist  present  temptation  so  small,  that  I  no  doubt  owed 
something  to  my  armament,  and  something  to  my  evident 
intention  to  use  it. 

I  now  made  for  the  exploring  camp  as  best  I  might. 
Gubbins  and  Antipodes  were  disposed  to  be  centrifugal, 
and,  as  I  did  not  wish  to  weary  Klale  with  pursuits,  I  held  to 
my  plan  of  towing  the  refractory  steeds.  At  times  the  two 
would  tug  their  lengths  of  rope  isosceles,  and  meet  for  biting 
each  other.  When  this  happened,  I,  seated  just  behind  the 
apex  of  the  triangle,  was  wellnigh  sawed  in  twain  by  the 
closing  sides.  After  such  encounter,  Antipodes  would  per- 
haps lurch  ahead  violently,  while  Gubbins,  limping  from  a 
kick,  would  be  a  laggard.  Klale  would  thus  become  the 
point  where  two  irregular  arms  of  a  diagonal  met,  and  would 
be  sorely  unsteadied,  as  are  those  who  strive  to  hold  even 
control  between  opponent  forces. 

Thus  I  jerked  along,  sometimes  tugging,  sometimes 
tugged,  until  I  discerned  a  distant  flicker  in  the  air,  which 
soon  defined  itself  as  the  American  flag,  and  through  the 
underwood  I  saw  the  tents  of  the  exploring  party,  a  wel- 
come refuge. 

I  was  tired,  hot,  excited,  and  hateful,  disgusted  with 
Indians  and  horses,  and  fast  losing  my  faith  in  everything; 
therefore  the  shelter  of  a  shady  tent  was  calming,  and  so 
was  the  pleasant  placidity  of  the  scene  within.  Lieutenant 
M.*  was  reclining  within,  buying  of  a  not  uncleanly  Indian 
long,  neat  potatoes  and  a  silver  salmon.     Dewiness  of  his 

*Lieut.  Sylvester  Mowry  of  the  Third  U.  S.  Artillery,  the  meteor- 
ologist of  the  McClellan  surveying  party. 


late  bath  in  the  melted  snows  of  the  Weenas  sparkled  still 
on  the  bright  scales  of  the  fish.  It  was  a  tranquillizing  spec- 
tacle after  the  rough  travel  and  offensive  encounters  of  the 
day.  Almost  too  attractive  to  a  man  who,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments of  this  comparatively  Sybaritic  dalliance,  must  re- 
new, and  now  alone,  his  journey,  fed  with  musty  hardtack, 
and  must  again  whip  tired  nags  over  plains  bristling  with 
wild  sage,  and  over  the  aggravating  backbones  of  the  earth. 

The  camp  could  give  me,  as  it  did,  a  hospitable  meal  of 
soldier's  fare;  but,  with  friendliest  intentions,  the  camp 
could  do  little  to  speed  me.  It  could  advise  me  that  to 
launch  out  unguided  into  the  unknown  is  perilous;  but  I 
was  resolved  not  to  be  baffled.  Le  Play  House,  the  mission 
where  Loolowcan  should  have  guided  me  in  the  morning, 
was  somewhere.  I  could  find  it,  and  ask  Christian  aid  there. 
The  priests  would  probably  have  Indian  retainers,  and  one 
of  these  would  be  a  safer  substitute  for  my  deserter.  I  would 
not  prognosticate  failure;  enough  to  meet  it  if  it  come. 

Le  Play  House  is  on  the  Atinam,  twenty  miles  in  a  bee- 
line  from  camp.  Were  one  but  a  bee,  here  would  be  a  pleasant 
flight  this  summer's  afternoon.  But  how  to  surely  trace 
this  imaginary  route  across  pathlessness,  over  twenty  miles 
of  waste,  across  two  ranges  of  high  scorched  hills?  Two 
young  Indians,  loungers  about  the  camp,  offered  to  conduct 
me  for  a  shirt.  Cheap,  but  inadmissible;  I  am  not  now,  my 
young  shirtless,  in  the  mood  for  lavishing  a  shirt  of  civili- 
zation on  any  of  the  si  wash  race.  Too  recent  are  the  in- 
juries and  insults  of  Loolowcan  and  the  men  of  Stenchville. 
I  am  still  in  an  imprudent  rage.  I  rashly  scorn  the  help 
of  aborigines.  Thereaway  is  Atinam, —  I  will  ride  thither 
alone  this  pleasant  afternoon  of  summer. 

I  could  not  fitly  ask  the  fusillade  for  Loolowcan,  Olyman, 
and  his  gang.  Their  action  had  been  too  incomplete  for 
punishment  so  final.  I  requested  Lieutenant  M.  to  mamook 
stick  upon  my  ex-comrade  should  he  present  himself.  I 
fear  that  the  traitor  escaped  unpunished,  perhaps  to  occupy 


himself  in  scalping  my  countrymen  in  the  late  war.*  Owh- 
high  in  that  war  was  unreasonably  hanged;  there  are  worse 
fellows  than  Owhhigh,  in  cleaner  circles,  unhung,  and  not 
even  sent  to  Coventry. 

Before  parting,  Lieutenant  M.  and  I  exchanged  presents 
of  our  most  precious  objects,  after  the  manner  of  the  Homeric 
heroes.  Hard-shell  remainder  biscuits  he  gave,  jaw-breakers, 
and  tough  as  a  pine-knot,  but  more  grateful  than  my  hard- 
tack, well  sprouted  after  its  irrigation  by  the  S'kamish.  I 
bestowed,  in  return,  two  of  my  salted  tongues,  bitter  as  the 
maxims  of  La  Rochefoucauld. 

Gubbins  and  Antipodes  were  foes  irreconcilable, —  a  fact 

*Winthrop  had  evidently  not  heard  of  the  fate  that  befell  his  guide 
at  the  close  of  the  Indian  war,  or  perhaps  he  did  not  know  that  his 
"Loolowcan"  was  identical  with  the  notorious  Qualchen,  son  of  Owhi, 
whose  murder  of  the  highly-respected  Indian  agent,  A.  J.  Bolon, 
hastened  the  outbreak  of  that  war.  Bolon,  who  had  been  trying  to  hold 
back  the  warriors  of  Kamaiakan  and  Schloo  by  negotiating  with  those 
chiefs,  had  started  to  return  to  The  Dalles,  "accompanied  by  three 
Indians,"  says  Snowden,  "one  of  whom  was  a  son  of  one  of  the  chiefs. 
By  some  this  was  supposed  to  be  Qualchen,  son  of  Owhi,  and  by  others 
he  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  son  of  Sho-ah-way,  another  chief.  After 
proceeding  for  some  distance  from  the  mission  this  young  man,  whoever 
he  was,  dropped  behind  the  party  and  shot  Bolon  through  the  back. 
With  the  help  of  his  companions  he  then  cut  his  throat,  killed  his  horse, 
built  a  fire  and  burned  the  bodies  of  horse  and  rider  together." 

Gen.  Hazard  Stevens  writes  me  from  Boston  that  he  is  convinced 
that  Loolowcan  and  Qualchen  were  the  same.  This  is  now  established 
beyond  question  by  the  testimony  of  Edward  Huggins,  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Factor,  cited  later  in  this  volume. 

The  retribution  that  overtook  Qualchen  was  as  ruthless  as  his  own 
character.  At  the  close  of  the  Indian  war,  Col.  George  Vv^right,  having 
captured  Owhi,  sent  word  to  his  son  that  he  would  hang  the  old  chief 
if  Qualchen  did  not  appear  forthwith.  "The  next  day,"  says  Snowden, 
in  a  passage  that  pictures  Qualchen  in  very  different  garb  from  that  worn 
by  Loolowcan  the  Frowzy,  "about  9  o'clock,  two  gaily-dressed  warriors 
and  a  squaw,  followed  by  an  Indian  hunchback,  rode  boldly  into  the 
camp  and  directly  to  Colonel  Wright's  tent.  All  wore  a  great  deal  of 
scarlet,  and  the  squaw  was  bedecked  with  two  highly  ornamental  scarfs 
passing  over  the  left  shoulder  and  under  the  right  arm,  while  on  the  sad- 
dle in  front  she  carried  a  long  lance,  the  handle  of  which  was  wound  with 
strings  of  many  colored  beads.  The  two  braves  carried  rifles,  and  one 
had  a  highly  ornamented  tomahawk.  This  was  Qualchen,  the  much- 
wanted;  and  he  and  those  with  him  were  immediately  seized.  'He  came 
to  me  at  9  o'clock  this  morning,'  says  Colonel  Wright  in  his  report, 
'and  at  9:15  he  was  hung.'  " — Snowden:  History  oj  Washington,  III., 
333;  IV.,  32. 


of  immense  value.  Therefore,  that  they  might  travel  with 
less  expense  of  scamper  to  me,  I  tied  their  heads  together. 
I  felt,  and  so  it  proved,  that,  whenever  Antipodes  begged  to 
pause  and  feed,  Gubbins  would  be  impelled  to  keep  up  a 
steady  jog-trot,  and  whenever  Gubbins  wished  to  inspect 
a  tuft  of  bunch-grass  to  the  right,  his  companion  would 
stolidly  decline  compliance,  and  plod  faithfully  along  the 
ideal  bee-line.  There  must  be  no  discursiveness  in  my  troop 

Then  I  resolutely  said  adieu  to  the  friendly  camp,  and, 
pointing  my  train  for  a  defile  in  the  hard  hills  upon  the 
southern  horizon,  started,  not  very  gayly,  and  very  lonely. 
We  did  not  droop,  horses  or  man,  but  the  visionary  Hope 
that  went  before  was  weak  in  the  knees,  and  no  longer 
bounded  gallantly,  beckoning  us  onward.  The  two  light- 
loaded  horses,  in  their  leash,  were  rarely  unanim^ous  to  halt, 
but  their  want  of  harmony  often  interfered  with  progress, 
and  Owhhigh's  whip  must  often  whirr  about  their  flanks, 
hinting  to  them  not  to  be  too  unbrotherly.  Toiling  thus 
doggedly  on  over  the  dry  levels  and  rolling  sweeps  of  prairie, 
Klale  and  I  grew  weary  with  the  remorseless  sunshine,  and 
our  responsibility  of  the  march. 

As  I  rounded  a  hillock,  two  horsemen,  galloping  toward 
me,  drew  up  at  a  hundred  yards  to  reconnoitre.  One  of 
them  immediately  rode  forward.  What  familiar  scarecrow 
is  this?  By  that  Joseph  coat  I  recognize  him.  It  is  Shab- 
biest, pleased  evidently  to  see  that  Loolowcan  has  taken 
his  advice,  and  I  am  departing  alone. 

"Kla  hy  yah?  Howdydo?"  said  the  old  man,  "Whither 
now,  0  Boston  tyee?" 

"To  Le  Play  House,"  answered  I,  short  and  sour,  feeling 
no  affinity  for  this  rusty  person,  the  first  beguiler  of  my 
treacherous  guide. 

"Not  the  hooihut,"  said  he.  "Nanitch  ocook  polealy; 
behold  this  powder," — the  powder  I  had  given  him.  For 
this  gift,  within  his  greasy  garb  there  beat  a  grateful  heart, 


or  possibly  a  heart  expectant  of  more,  and  he  volunteered 
to  guide  me  a  little  way  into  the  trail.  Moral:  always  give 
a  testimonial  to  dreary  old  grumblers  in  ole  clo',  when  you 
meet  them  in  the  jolly  morning, —  possibly  they  may  re- 
quite you  when  you  meet  at  sulky  eve. 

First,  Shabbiest  must  ask  permission  of  his  companion. 
"My  master,"  he  said;  "I  am  elaita,  a  slave."  The  master, 
a  big,  bold  Indian  of  Owhhigh  type,  in  clothes  only  second- 
hand, gave  him  free  permission.  The  old  man's  servitude  was 

Shabbiest  led  off  on  his  shambler  in  quite  another  di- 
rection from  mine,  and  more  southerly.  After  a  mile  or  so 
we  climbed  a  steep  hill,  whence  I  could  see  the  Nachchese 
again.  I  saw  also  behind  me  a  great  column  of  dust,  and 
from  it  anon  two  galloping  riders  making  for  us. 

They  dashed  up, —  the  same  two  youths  who  at  camp 
had  offered  to  guide  me  to  Le  Play  House  for  a  shirt.  I  was 
humbler  now  than  when  I  refused  them  before  noon,  having 
over-confidence  in  myself  and  my  power  of  tracing  bee-lines. 
We  must,  perhaps,  be  lost  in  our  younker  and  prodigal  pe- 
riods, before  our  noon,  that  we  may  be  taught  respect  for 
experience,  and    believe  in  co-operation  of    brother-men. 

Now,  I  possessed  two  shirts  of  faded  blue-check  calico, 
and  was  important  among  savages  for  such  possession.  One 
of  these,  much  bedimmed  with  dust,  at  present  bedecked 
my  person, —  buckskin  laid  aside  for  the  heat.  There  was  no 
washerwoman  within  many  degrees  of  latitude  and  longi- 
tude,—  none  probably  between  the  Cascades  and  the 
Rockies.  Why  not,  then,  disembarrass  myself  of  a  value- 
less article, —  a  shirt  properly  hors  du  combat, —  if  by  its  aid 
I  might  win  to  guide  me  two  young  rovers,  ambitious  of 
so  much  distinction  on  their  Boulevards  as  a  checked  calico 
could  confer? 

Young  gallopers,  the  shirt  is  yours.  Ho  for  Le  Play  House! 

Adieu,  Shabbiest,  unexpected  re-enterer  on  this  scene! 
Thy  gratitude  for  two  charges  of  powder  puts  a  fact  on  the 


merit  side  of  my  book  of  Indian  character.  Receive  now, 
with  my  thanks,  this  my  last  spare  dhudeen,  and  this  ounce 
of  pigtail,  and  take  away  thyself  and  thy  odorous  coat  from 
between  the  wind  and  me.    Shabbiest  rode  after  his  master. 

Everything  now  revived.  Horses  and  men  grew  confi- 
dent, and  Hope,  late  feeble  in  the  knees,  now  with  braced 
muscles  went  turning  somersets  of  joy  before  us.  Antipodes 
and  Gubbins,  unleashed,  were  hurried  along  by  the  whoops 
and  whips  of  my  younker  guides;  and  Klale,  relieved  of  re- 
sponsibility, and  inspired  by  gay  companions,  became 
sprightly  and  tricksy.  Sudden  change  had  befallen  my 
prospects,  lately  dreary.  Shabbiest  had  come  as  forerunner 
of  good  fortune.  Then,  speeding  after  him,  appeared  my 
twin  deliverers,  guiding  me  for  the  low  price  of  a  shirt  to- 
tally buttonless. 

It  was  worth  a  shirt,  nay,  shirts,  merely  to  be  escorted 
by  these  graceful  centaurs.  No  saddle  intervened  between 
them  and  their  horses.  No  stirrup  compelled  their  legs.  A 
hair  rope  twisted  around  the  mustang's  lower  lip  was  their 
only  horse  furniture.  "Owhhigh  tenas,"  one  of  Owhhigh's 
boys,  the  younger  claimed  to  be.  Nowhere  have  I  seen  a 
more  beautiful  youth.  He  rode  like  an  Elgin  marble.  A 
circlet  of  otter  fur  plumed  with  an  eagle's  feather  crowned 
him.  His  forehead  was  hardly  perceptibly  flattened,  and 
his  expression  was  honest  and  merry,  not  like  the  sombre, 
suspicious  visage  of  Loolowcan,  disciple  of  Talipus. 

Neither  of  my  new  friends  would  give  me  his  name.  Af- 
ter coquetting  awhile,  they  pretended  that  to  tell  me  would 
be  tamanoiis  of  ill-omen,  and  begged  me  to  give  them  pasai- 
ooks'  names.  So  I  received  them  into  civilization  under 
the  titles  of  Prince  and  Poihs.  These  they  metamorphosed 
into  U'plint'z  and  K'pawint'z,  and  shouted  their  new  ap- 
pellatives at  each  other  in  glee  as  they  galloped.  Prince, 
my  new  Adonis,  like  Poins,  his  admiring  and  stupid  comrade, 
was  dressed  only  in  hickory  shirt  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany and  some  nondescript  raggedness  for  leggins.    Deer 


are  not  abundant  in  this  arid  region,  and  buckskin  raiment 
is  a  luxury  for  chiefs. 

With  these  companions,  the  journey,  just  now  dismal, 
became  a  lark.  Over  the  levels  the  horses  dashed  freshly, — 
mine  as  if  they  wished  to  show  how  much  I  had  undervalued 
their  bottom,  and  how  needless  had  been  my  detour,  under 
my  false  leader,  to  exchange  these  trusty  and  tried  fellow- 
travellers  for  unknown  substitutes.  Over  the  levels  they 
dashed,  and  stout  of  heart,  though  not  quite  so  gayly,  they 
clambered  the  hills  macadamized  with  pebbles  of  trap. 

Antipodes,  loping  in  the  lead,  suddenly  shied  wildly 
away  from  a  small  rattlesnake  coiled  in  the  track.  The  lit- 
tle stranger  did  not  wait  for  our  assault.  He  glided  away 
into  a  thick  bush,  where  he  stood  on  the  defensive,  brandish- 
ing his  tongue,  and  eying  us  with  two  flames.  His  tail 
meanwhile  recited  cruel  anathemas,  with  a  harsh,  rapid  burr. 
He  was  safe  from  assault  of  stick  or  stone,  and  I  was  about 
to  call  in  my  old  defender,  the  revolver,  when  Uplintz  prayed 
me  to  pause.  I  gave  him  the  field,  while  Kpawintz  stood  by, 
chuckling  with  delight  at  the  ingenuity  of  his  friend  and  hero. 

Uplintz  took  from  a  buckskin  pouch  at  his  belt  his  pipe, 
and,  loosening  from  the  bowl  its  slender  reed  stem,  he  passed 
through  it  a  stiff  spire  of  bunch-grass.  A  little  oil  of  tobacco 
adhered  to  the  point.  He  approached  the  bush  carefully, 
and  held  the  nicotinized  straw  a  foot  from  the  rattlesnake's 
nose.  At  once,  from  a  noisy,  threatening  snake,  tremulous 
with  terror  and  rage  from  quivering  fang  to  quivering  rattle, 
—  a  snake  writhing  venomously  all  along  its  black  and  yel- 
low ugliness, —  it  became  a  pacified  snake,  watchful,  but 
not  wrathful. 

Uplintz,  charmer  of  reptiles,  proceeded  with  judicious 
coolness.  Imperceptibly  he  advanced  his  wand  of  enchant- 
ment nearer  and  nearer.  Rattler  perceived  the  potent  in- 
fluence, and  rattled  no  more.  The  vixenish  twang  ceased 
at  one  end  of  him;  at  the  other,  his  tongue  became  gently 
lambent.     The   narcotic   javelin   approached,   and   finally 


touched  his  head.  He  was  a  lulled  and  vanquished  rattle- 
snake. He  followed  the  magic  sceptre,  as  Uplintz  withdrew 
it, —  a  very  drunken  serpent  "rolled  to  starboard,  rolled  to 
larboard,"  staggering  with  the  air  of  a  languidly  contented 
inebriate.  He  swayed  feebly  out  upon  the  path,  and  squirmed 
there,  while  the  charmer  tickled  his  nose  with  the  pleasant 
opiate,  his  rattles  uttering  mild  plaudits. 

At  last  Kpa\dntz,  the  stolid,  whipping  out  a  knife,  sud- 
denly decapitated  our  disarmed  plaything,  and  bagged  the 
carcass  for  supper,  with  triumphant  guffaws.  Kpawintz 
enjoyed  his  solution  of  the  matter  hugely,  and  acted  over 
the  motions  of  the  snake,  laughing  loudly  as  he  did  so,  and 
exhibiting  his  tidbit  trophy. 

We  had  long  ago  splashed  across  the  Nachchese.  The 
sun,  nearing  the  western  hills,  made  every  opening  valley 
now  a  brilliant  vista.  The  rattlesnake  had  died  just  on  the 
edge  of  the  Atinam  ridges,  and  Kpawintz  was  still  brand- 
ishing his  yellow  and  black  prey,  and  snapping  the  rattle 
about  the  flanks  of  his  wincing  roan,  when  Uplintz  called 
me  to  look  with  him  up  into  the  streaming  sunshine,  and  see 
Le  Play  House. 

A  strange  and  unlovely  spot  for  religion  to  have  chosen 
for  its  home  of  influence.  It  needed  all  the  transfiguring 
power  of  sunset  to  make  this  desolate  scene  endurable.  Even 
sunset,  lengthening  the  shadow  of  every  blade  of  grass, 
could  not  create  a  mirage  of  verdant  meadow  there,  nor 
stretch  scrubby  cottonwood-trees  to  be  worthy  of  then-  ex- 
aggerated shade.  No  region  this  where  a  Friar  Tuck  would 
choose  to  rove,  solacing  his  eremite  days  with  greenwood 
pleasures.  Only  ardent  hermits  would  banish  themselves 
to  such  a  hermitage.  The  missionary  spirit,  or  the  military 
religious  discipline,  must  be  very  positive,  which  sends  men 
to  such  unattractive  heathen  as  these, —  to  a  field  of  labor 
far  away  from  any  contact  with  civilization,  and  Vv^here  no 
exalting  result  of  converted  multitudes  can  be  hoped. 

The  mission  was  a  hut-like  structure  of  adobe  clay,  plas- 


tered  upon  a  frame  of  sticks.  It  stood  near  the  stony  bed 
of  the  Atinam.  The  sun  was  just  setting  as  we  came  over 
against  it,  on  the  hillside.  We  dashed  down  into  the  valley, 
that  moment  abandoned  by  sunlight.  My  Indians  launched 
forward  to  pay  their  friendly  greeting  to  the  priests.  But 
I  observed  them  quickly  pause,  walk  their  horses,  and  noise- 
lessly dismount. 

As  I  drew  near,  a  sound  of  reverent  voices  met  me, — 
vespers  at  this  station  in  the  wilderness.  Three  souls  were 
worshipping  in  the  rude  chapel  attached  to  the  house.  It 
was  rude  indeed, —  a  cell  of  clay, —  but  a  sense  of  the  Divine 
presence  was  there,  not  less  than  in  many  dim  old  cathedrals, 
far  away,  where  earlier  sunset  had  called  worshippers  of 
other  race  and  tongue  to  breathe  the  same  thanksgiving  and 
the  same  heartfelt  prayer.  No  pageantry  of  ritual  such  as  I 
had  often  witnessed  in  ancient  fanes  of  the  same  faith;  when 
incense  filled  the  air  and  made  it  breathe  upon  the  finer 
senses;  when  from  the  organ  tones  large,  majestical,  triumph- 
ant, subduing,  made  my  being  thrill  as  if  music  were  the 
breath  of  a  new  life  more  ardent  and  exalting;  when  inward 
to  join  the  throngs  that  knelt  there  solemnly,  inward  to  the 
old  sanctuary  where  their  fathers'  fathers  had  knelt  and 
prayed  the  ancestral  prayers  of  mankind  for  light  and  braver 
hope  and  calmer  energy,  inward  with  the  rich  mists  of  sun- 
set flung  back  from  dusky  walls  of  time-glorified  marble 
palaces,  came  the  fair  and  the  mean,  the  desolate  and  the 
exultant, —  came  beauty  to  be  transfigured  to  more  tender 
beauty  with  gentle  penitence  and  purifying  hope, —  came 
weariness  and  pain  to  be  soothed  with  visions  of  joy 
undying,  celestial, —  came  hearts  wellnigh  despairing,  self- 
scourged  or  cruelly  betrayed,  to  win  there  dear  repentance 
strong  with  tears,  to  win  the  wise  and  agonized  resolve; — 
never  in  any  temple  of  that  ancient  faith,  where  prayer  has 
made  its  home  for  centuries,  has  prayer  seemed  so  mighty, 
worship  so  near  the  ear  of  God,  as  vespers  here  at  this  rough 
shrine  in  the  lonely  valley  of  Atinam. 


God  is  not  far  from  our  lives  at  any  moment.  But  we 
go  for  days  and  years  with  no  light  shining  forth  from  kind- 
ling heart  to  reveal  to  us  the  near  divineness.  With  clear 
and  cultivated  perception  we  take  in  all  facts  of  beauty, 
all  the  wonderment  of  craft,  cunning  adaptation,  and  sub- 
tle design  in  nature;  we  are  guided  through  thick  dangers, 
and  mildly  scourged  away  from  enfeebling  luxury  of  too 
m.uch  bliss;  we  err  and  sin,  and  gain  the  bitter  lessons  of 
penance;  and  all  this  while  we  are  deeming  or  dreaming  our- 
selves thoughtfully  religious,  and  are  so  up  to  the  measure 
of  our  development.  But  yet,  after  all  these  years,  coming 
at  last  to  a  wayside  shrine,  where  men  after  their  manner 
are  adoring  so  much  of  the  Divine  as  their  minds  can  know, 
we  are  touched  with  a  strange  and  larger  sympathy,  and 
perceive  in  ourselves  a  great  awakening,  and  a  new  and 
wider  perception  of  God  and  the  godlike,  and  know  that 
we  have  entered  upon  another  sphere  of  spiritual  growth. 

Vespers  ended.  The  missionaries,  coming  forth  from 
their  service,  welcomed  me  with  quiet  cordiality.  Visits 
of  men  not  savage  were  rare  to  them  as  are  angels'  visits 
to  worldlings.  In  winter  they  resided  at  a  station  on  the 
Yakimah  in  the  plains  eastward.  Atinam  was  then-  summer 
abode,  when  the  copper-colored  lambs  of  their  flock  were 
in  the  mountains,  plucking  berries  in  the  dells,  catching 
crickets  on  the  slopes. 

Messrs.  D'Herbomez  and  Pandosy  had  been  some  five 
years  among  the  different  tribes  of  this  Yakim.ah  region, 
effecting  of  course  not  much.  They  had  become  influential 
friends,  rather  than  spiritual  guides.  They  could  exhibit 
some  results  of  good  advice  in  potato-patches,  but  polyg- 
amy was  too  strong  for  them.  Kamaiakan,  chiefest  of 
Yakimah  or  Klickatat  chiefs,  sustained  their  cause  and  ac- 
cepted their  admonitions  in  many  matters  of  conduct,  but 
never  asked  should  he  or  should  he  not  invite  another  Mrs. 
Kamaiakan  to  share  the  honors  of  his  lodge.  Men  and  In- 
dians are  firm  against  clerical  interference  in  domestic  insti- 


tutions.  Perhaps  also  Kamaiakan  had  a  vague  notion  of 
the  truth,  that  polygamy  is  not  a  whit  more  unnatural  than 

Whether  or  not  these  representatives  of  the  Society  of 
Jesus  have  persuaded  the  Yakimahs  to  send  away  their  su- 
pernumerary squaws,  for  fear  of  something  harsher  than  the 
good-natured  amenities  of  purgatory,  one  kindly  and  suc- 
cessful missionary  work  they  have  done,  in  my  reception 
and  entertainment.  Their  fare  was  mine.  Salmon  from  the 
stream  and  potatoes  from  their  own  garden  spread  the  board. 
Their  sole  servant,  an  old  Canadian  lay  brother,  cared  for 
my  horses, —  for  them  and  for  me  there  was  perfect  repose. 

By  no  means  would  Uplintz  and  Kpawintz  allow  me  to 
forget  their  promised  reward.  Each  was  an  incomplete 
dandy  of  the  Yakimahs  until  that  shirt  of  blue  had  been  tried 
on  by  each,  and  contrasted  with  the  brown  cuticle  of  each. 
They  desired  to  dress  after  my  mode;  with  pasaiooks'  names 
and  an  exchangeable  shirt  between  them,  they  hoped  to  be- 
come elegant  men  of  Boston  fashion.  Twilight  was  gloom 
to  their  hearts  until  I  had  condescended  to  lay  aside  that 
envied  garment,  until  it  had  ceased  to  be  mine,  and  was  the 
joint  property  of  two  proud  and  happy  young  braves,  and 
until  each,  wearing  it  for  a  time  and  seeing  himself  reflected 
in  the  admiring  eyes  of  his  fellow,  felt  that  he  was  stamped 
with  the  true  cachet  of  civilization.  Alas,  that  the  state  of  my 
kit  did  not  permit  me  to  double  the  boon,  and  envelope  the 
statuesque  proportions  of  Uplintz  with  a  clean  calico,  rich 
in  pearl  buttons.  For  there  came  an  obtruding  question 
how  the  two  juvenals  would  distribute  the  one  mantle. 
Would  they  appear  before  the  critical  circles  of  Weenas  only 
on  alternate  days?  Would  they  cleave  the  garment  into  a 
dexter  and  a  sinister  portion,  one  sleeve  and  half  a  body  to 
each?  Or  would  they  divide  the  back  to  one,  and  the  front 
to  the  other,  and  thenceforth  present,  the  one  an  obverse, 
and  the  other  a  reverse  to  the  world?  It  is  my  hope  that  their 
tenancy  in  commion  of  this  perishable  chattel  did  not  sunder 


companionship.  Kpawintz  would  infallibly  give  up  his  un- 
divided half  to  Uplintz,  if  that  captivating  young  Adonis 
demanded  it.  But  I  trust  that  the  latter  was  content  with 
grace,  beauty,  and  rattlesnakes,  and  yielded  the  entire  sec- 
ond-hand shirt  to  his  less  accomplished  friend.  Elabo- 
rate toilettes  are  a  necessity  of  ugliness.  Uplintz,  fair  as 
Antinoiis,  would  only  deteriorate  under  frippery. 

It   had   a   fresh    flavor    of    incongruity   to   talk    high 
civilization  on  the  Atinam,  in  a  mud  chamber  twelve  feet 

FATHER  CHARLES  PANDOSY,  of  the  Atanum  Mission. 

square,  while  two  dusky  youths  of  Owhhigh's  band,  squatted 
on  the  floor,  eyed  us  calmly,  and,  when  their  pipe  was  out, 
kept  each  other  awake  with  monotonous  moaning  gutturals. 
The  mountain  gale  of  to-night  was  strong  as  the  mistral  of 
Father  D'Herbomez's  native  Provence. 

We  talked  of  that  romantic  region,  comparing  adobe 
architecture  of  the  Northwest  with  the  Palace  of  Avignon, 
the  Amphitheatre  of  Nismes,  the  Maison  Carree,  and  the 
Pont  du  Gard.  Kamaiakan's  court  lost  by  contrast  with 
King  Rene's,  and  no  Petrarch  had  yet  arisen  among  the 



Yakimahs.  Then,  passing  over  the  Maritime  Alps  into  the 
plains  of  Piedmont,  we  measured  Monte  Rosa,  dominant 
over  Father  Pandosy's  horizon  of  youth,  with  St.  Helens, 
queen  of  the  farthest  West,  and  rebuilt  in  fancy,  on  these 
desert  plains,  sunny  Milan  and  its  brilliant  dome. 

It  is  good  to  have  the  brain  packed  full  of  images  from  the 
wealthy  past;  it  is  good  to  remember  and  recall  the  beauti- 
ful accumulations  of  human  genius  from  earliest  eld  to  now. 
For  with  these  possessions  a  man  may  safely  be  a  comrade 

FATHER   L.   D'HERBOMEZ,   of  the  Atanum  Mission.      Later, 
Bishop  of  Vancouver,   B.  C. 

of  rudest  pioneers,  and  toughen  himself  to  robust  manliness, 
without  dislinking  himself  from  refinement,  courtesy,  and 
beauty  of  act  and  demeanor.  Nature  indeed,  wise,  fair,  and 
good,  is  ever  at  hand  to  reintroduce  us  to  our  better  selves; 
but  sometimes,  in  moods  sorry  or  rebellious.  Nature  seems 
cold  and  slow  and  distant,  and  will  not  grant  at  once  to  our 
eagerness  the  results  of  long,  patient  study.  Then  we  turn 
to  our  remembrances  of  what  brother  men  have  done,  and 
standing  among  them,  as  in  a  noble  amphitheatre,  we  can- 
not be  other  than  calm  and  patient;  we  cannot  fall  back  into 


barbarism  and  be  brutal,  though  our  present  society  be 
Klalams  or  Klickatats;  and  even  when  treachery  has  ex- 
asperated us  in  the  morning,  in  the  evening,  under  the  quiet- 
ing influence  of  Art  and  History,  we  can  forgive  the  savage, 
and  think  of  pacifying  themes. 

A  roof  crushes  and  fevers  one  who  has  been  long  wont 
to  sleep  beneath  the  stars.  I  preferred  my  blankets  without 
the  cabin,  sheltered  by  its  wall  from  the  wind  that  seemed  to 
prophesy  a  storm  of  terrors  growing  on  the  mountains  and 
the  sea,  to  the  luxury  of  a  bunk  within.  The  good  fathers 
were  lodged  with  more  than  conventual  simplicity.  Dis- 
comfort, and  often  privation,  were  the  laws  of  missionary 
life  in  this  lonely  spot.  It  was  camp  life  with  none  of  the 
excitement  of  a  camp.  Drearily  m.onotonous  went  the  days 
of  these  pioneers.  There  was  little  intellectual  exercise  to 
be  had,  except  to  construct  a  vocabulary  of  the  Yakimah 
dialect, —  a  hardly  more  elaborate  machine  for  working  out 
thought  than  the  babbling  Chinook  jargon.  They  could 
have  inevitably  but  small  success  in  proselyting,  and  rarely 
any  society  except  the  savage  dignity  of  Kamaiakan,  the 
savage  vigor  of  Skloo,  and  the  savage  cleverness  of  Owhhigh. 
A  tame  lustrum  for  my  hosts,  varied  only  by  summer  mi- 
grations to  the  Atinam  and  winter  abode  on  the  Yakimah. 
If  the  object  of  a  man's  life  were  solely  to  produce  effect 
upon  other  men,  and  only  mediately  upon  himself,  one 
would  say  that  the  life  of  a  cultivated  and  intellectual  mis- 
sionary, endeavoring  to  instruct  savages  in  the  complex  and 
transitional  dogmatisms  of  civilization,  was  absolutely 

When  I  woke,  late  as  sunrise,  after  the  crowded  fatigues 
and  difficulties  of  yesterday,  I  found  that  already  my  hosts 
had  despatched  Uplintz  and  Kpawintz  to  a  supposed  neigh- 
bor camp  of  their  brethren,  to  seek  me  a  guide.  Also  the  old 
servitor,  a  friendly  grumbler,  was  off  to  the  mountains  on  a 
similar  errand.  Patience,  therefore,  and  remember,  hasty 
voyager,  that  many  are  the  chances  of  savage  life. 


Antipodes  had  shaken  to  pieces  whatever  stitched  bag 
he  bore.  I  seized  this  moment  to  make  repairs.  Among  my 
traps  were  needles  and  thread  of  the  stoutest,  for  use  and 
for  presents.  The  fascinating  squaw  of  Weenas,  if  she  had 
but  known  it,  was  very  near  a  largess  of  such  articles.  But 
the  wrong-doing  of  Sultan  Olyman  lost  her  the  gift,  and  my 
tailor-stock  was  undiminished.  I  made  a  lucky  thrust  at 
the  one  eye  of  a  needle,  and  began  my  work  with  severe 

While  I  was  mending,  Uplintz,  with  his  admiring  Orson, 
Kpawintz,  came  galloping  back. 

Gone  were  the  Indians  they  had  sought;  gone — so  said 
their  trail  —  to  gad  nomadly  anywhere.  And  the  two  com- 
rades, though  willing  to  go  with  me  to  the  world's  end  for 
the  pleasure  of  my  society  and  the  reward  of  my  shu-ts,  must 
admit  to  Father  Pandosy,  cross-examining,  that  they  had 
never  meandered  along  the  Dalles  hooihut. 

The  old  lay  brother  also  returned  bringing  bad  luck. 
Where  he  had  looked  to  find  populous  lodges,  he  met  one 
straggling  squaw,  left  there  to  potter  alone,  while  the  Be- 
douins were  far  away.  The  many  chances  of  Indian  life 
seemed  chancing  sadly  against  me.  Should  I  despair  of  far- 
ther progress,  and  become  an  acolyte  of  the  Atinam  mission? 

Just  then  I  raised  my  eyes,  and  lo!  a  majestic  Indian  in 
Lincoln  green!  He  was  dismounting  at  the  corral  from  a 
white  pacer.     Who  now? 

"Le  bon  Dieu  I'envoie,"  said  Father  Pandosy;  "c'est 
Kamaiakan  meme." 

Enter,  then,  upon  this  scene  Kamaiakan,  chiefest  of 
Yakimah  chiefs.  He  was  a  tall,  large  man,  very  dark,  with  a 
massive  square  face,  and  grave,  reflective  look.  Without 
the  senatorial  coxcombry  of  Owhhigh,  his  manner  was 
strikingly  distinguished,  quiet,  and  dignified.  He  greeted 
the  priests  as  a  kaiser  might  a  papal  legate.  To  me,  as 
their  friend,  he  gave  his  hand  with  a  gentlemanly  word  of 



All  the  nobs  I  have  known  among  Redskins  have  re- 
tained a  certain  dignity  of  manner  even  in  their  beggarly 
moods.  Among  the  plebeians,  this  excellence  degenerates  into 
a  gruff  coolness  or  insolent  indifference.  No  one  ever  saw 
a  bustling  or  fussy  Indian.  Even  when  he  begs  of  a  blanket- 
eer  gifted  with  chattels,  and  beg  he  does  without  shame  or 
shrinking,  he  asks  as  if  he  would  do  the  possessor  of  so  much 
trumpery  an  honor  by  receiving  it  at  his  hands.  The  nau- 
seous, brisk,   pen-behind-the-ear  manner    of  the    thriving 

KAM-AI-A-KAN  :     Head  Chief  of  the  Yakimas. 

tradesman,  competitor  with  everything  and  everybody,  would 
disgust  an  Indian  even  to  the  scalping  point.  Owhhigh, 
visiting  my  quarters  at  Squally  with  his  fugue  of  beggars, 
praying  me  to  breech  his  breechless,  shirt  his  shirtless,  shoe 
his  shoeless  child,  treated  me  with  a  calm  loftiness,  as  if 
I  were  merely  a  steward  of  his,  or  certainly  nothing  more  than 
a  co-potentate  of  the  world's  oligarchy.  He  showed  no  dis- 
composure at  my  refusal,  as  unmoved  as  his  request.  Fa- 
talism, indolence,  stolidity,  and  self-respect  are  combined 


in  this  indifference.  Most  of  a  savage's  prayers  for  bounty 
are  made  direct  to  Nature;  when  she  refuses  she  does  so  ac- 
cording to  majestic  laws,  of  which  he,  half  reflectively,  half 
instinctively,  is  conscious.  He  learns  that  there  is  no  use 
in  waiting  and  whining  for  salmon  out  of  season,  or  fresh 
grasshoppers  in  March.  According  to  inevitable  laws,  he 
will  have,  or  will  not  have,  salmon  of  the  first  water,  and 
aromatic  grasshoppers  sweet  as  honey  dew.  Caprice  is  out 
of  the  question  with  Nature,  although  her  sex  be  feminine. 
Thus  a  savage  learns  to  believe  that  power  includes  steadi- 

Kamaiakan's  costume  was  novel.  Louis  Philippe  dodg- 
ing the  police  as  Mr.  Smith,  and  adorned  with  a  woollen  com- 
forter and  a  blue  cotton  umbrella,  was  unkingly  and  a  car- 
icature. He  must  be  every  inch  a  king  who  can  appear  in 
an  absurd  garb  and  yet  look  full  royal.  Kamaiakan  stood 
the  test.  He  wore  a  coat,  a  long  tunic  of  fine  green  cloth. 
Like  the  irregular  beds  of  a  kitchen  garden  were  the  patches, 
of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  combined  to  form  this  robe  of  cere- 
mony. A  line,  zigzag  as  the  path  over  new-fallen  snow 
trodden  by  a  man  after  toddies  too  many, —  such  devious 
line  marked  the  waist.  Sleeves,  baggy  here,  and  there  tight 
as  a  bandage,  were  inserted  somewhere,  without  reference  to 
the  anatomical  insertion  of  arms.  Each  verdant  patch  was 
separated  from  its  surrounding  patches  by  a  rampart  or  a 
ditch  of  seam,  along  which  stitches  of  white  threads  strayed 
like  vines.  It  was  a  gerrymandered  coat, —  gerrymandered 
according  to  some  system  perhaps  understood  by  the  oper- 
ator, but  to  me  complex,  impolitic,  and  unconstitutional. 

Yet  Kamaiakan  was  not  a  scarecrow.  Within  this  gar- 
ment of  disjunctive  conjunction  he  stood  a  chieftainly  man. 
He  had  the  advantage  of  an  imposing  presence  and  bearing, 
and  above  all  a  good  face,  a  well-lighted  Pharos  at  the  top 
of  his  colossal  frame.  We  generally  recognize  whether  there 
is  a  man  looking  at  us  from  behind  what  he  chances  to  use 
for  eyes,  and  when  we  detect  the  man,  we  are  cheered  or 

Euins  of  the  Atinam  Mission. 

"As  I  drew  near,  a  sound  of  reverent  voices  met  me, — 
vespers  at  this  station  in  the  -wilderness.  Three  souls 
were  worshipping  in  the  rude  chapel  attached  to  the 
house.  It  was  a  cell  of  clay;  but  a  sense  of  the  Divine 
was  there,  not  less  than  in  many  dim  cathedrals.  * 
*  *  Never  in  any  temple  of  that  ancient  faith,  where 
prayer  has  made  its  home  for  centuries,  has  prayer 
seemed  so  mighty,  worship  so  near  the  ear  of  God,  as 
vespers  here  at  this  rough  shrine  in  the  lonely  valley." 

—Chapter  XL 


bullied  according  to  what  we  are.  It  is  intrinsically  more 
likely  that  the  chieftainly  man  will  be  an  acknowledged 
chief  among  simple  savages,  than  in  any  of  the  transitional 
phases  of  civilization  preceding  the  educated  simplicity  of 
social  life,  whither  we  now  tend.  Kamaiakan,  in  order  to 
be  chiefest  chief  of  the  Yakimahs,  must  be  clever  enough  to 
master  the  dodges  of  salmon  and  the  will  of  wayward  mus- 
tangs; or,  like  Fine-Ear,  he  must  know  where  kamas-bulbs 
are  mining  a  passage  for  their  sprouts;  or  he  must  be  able 
to  tramp  farther  and  fare  better  than  his  fellows;  or,  by  a 
certain  tamanoiis  that  is  in  him,  he  must  have  power  to  per- 
suade or  convince,  to  win  or  overbear.  He  must  be  best 
as  a  hunter,  a  horseman,  a  warrior,  an  orator.  These  are 
personal  attributes,  not  heritable;  if  Kamaiakan  Junior 
is  a  nature's  nobody,  he  takes  no  permanent  benefit  by  his 

Chieftainly  Kamaiakan  seated  himself  and  his  fantastic 
coat  in  the  hut.  He  had  looked  in  to  see  his  friends,  the 
good  fathers,  and  to  counsel  with  them  what  could  be  done 
for  Mrs.  Kamaiakan  the  third.  That  estimable  lady  had 
taken  too  much  salmon, —  very  far  too  much,  alas!  —  and 
Kamaiakan  feared  that  he  was  about  to  become  a  widower, 
pro  tanto.  Such  a  partial  solution  of  the  question  of  polyg- 
amy was  hardly  desired  by  the  missionaries.  It  were  better 
to  save  Mrs.  K.  the  third;  for  doubtless  already,  knowing 
of  her  illness,  many  a  maiden  of  Yakimah  high  fashion  was 
wishing  that  her  locks  might  glisten  more  sleekly  attractive; 
many  a  dusky  daughter  of  the  tribe  was  putting  on  the  per- 
manent blush  of  vermilion  to  win  a  look  from  the  disconso- 
late chief.  The  fathers  feared  that  he  would  not  content 
himself  with  one  substitute,  but  not  to  give  offense,  would 
accept  the  candidates  one  and  all.  Therefore  one  of  the 
gentlemen  busied  himself  with  a  dose  for  the  surfeited  squaw, 
—  a  dose  in  quantity  giant,  in  force  dwarf, —  one  that 
should  make  itself  respected  at  first  sight,  and  gain  a 
Chinese  victory  by  its  formidable  aspect  alone. 


While  one  compounded  this  truculent  bolus,  the  other  im- 
parted my  needs  to  the  chief. 

Kamaiakan  himself  could  not  profit  by  this  occasion  to 
make  a  trip  to  the  Dalles  and  cultivate  my  society.  Not 
only  domestic  trials,  but  duties  of  state  prevented.  Were 
he  absent  at  this  critical  epoch,  when  uninvited  soldier-men 
were  tramping  the  realm  and  winking  at  its  ladies  without 
respect  to  rank,  who  would  stand  forward  as  champion? 
Who  pacify  alike  riotous  soldier-man  and  aggrieved  savage? 
Kamaiakan  could  not  leave  the  field  to  Skloo  the  ambitious, 
nor  to  Owhhigh  the  crafty,  when  he  returned  from  Squally 
rich  with  goods,  the  proceeds  of  many  a  horse-theft.  Absent 
a  week,  and  Kamaiakan  might  find  that  for  another,  and 
not  for  him,  were  the  tawny  maids.  Kamaiakan  must  stay. 
A  nobleman  on  the  climb  must  keep  himself  always  before 
the  vulgar. 

But  a  follower  of  the  chief  had  just  ambled  up  on  a  pony, 
leading  his  sumpter-horse.  Him  Kamaiakan  despatched  up 
the  Atinam,  where  he  had  heard  that  a  camp  of  his  people 
had  halted  on  their  way  to  the  mountain  berry-patches. 
Among  them  was  a  protege  of  the  chief,  who  knew  every 
trail  of  the  region  and  had  horses  galore. 

Many  are  the  chances  of  nomad  life.  Enter  now,  in  the 
background,  a  siwash  soon  to  be  a  personage  in  this  drama, 
if  the  last  legs  of  his  flea-bitten  white  Rosinante  can  but 
convey  him  to  the  foreground  to  announce  himself. 

Enter  Ferdinand  on  the  scene,  in  an  Isabella  yellow 
shirt, — he  and  his  garments  alike  guiltless  of  the  soap  of 
Castile,  or  any  soap  of  land  less  royal. 

Ferdinand  was  a  free  companion,  a  cosmopolite  of  his 
world.  He  was  going  somewhere,  anywhere,  nowhere.  He 
had  happened  in  with  dinner  in  view.  So  long  as  the  legs 
of  Rosinante  lasted,  Ferdinand  could  be  a  proud  cavalier. 
Now,  those  legs  failing,  he  drooped.  He  would  soon  become 
a  peon,  a  base  footman,  and  possibly,  under  temptation,  a 
footpad.    Better,  then,  quarter  himself  on  his  friends  and 


former  masters,  the  priests,  until  in  the  free  pastures  of 
Atinam  Rosinante  should  grow  bumptious  again. 

As  his  name  imported,  this  newcomer  claimed  to  be 
identified  with  civilization.  "No  Indian  name  have  I,"  he 
said,  "I  am  Fudnun,  a  blanketeer."  He  was  a  resolved 
reilegado  from  Indian  polity  and  sociality.  He  had  served 
with  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company.  He  had  even  conde- 
scended to  take  lessons  in  cookery  from  the  pale-face  squaws 
of  the  Willamette. 

While  Ferdinand  was  thus  announcing  himself,  and 
communicatively  making  good  his  claim  as  a  blanketeer, 
the  envoy  of  Kamaiakan  returned.  He  had  hastened  up 
the  Atinam,  and  come  to  Camp  No-camp.  The  able-bodied 
siwashes  had  all  vanished,  leaving  only  a  few  children,  re- 
cently out  of  the  papoose  period,  and  a  few  squaws  far  on 
toward  second  childhood.  Only  such  were  left  as  had  no 
more  than  power  enough  to  chase  and  bag  the  agile  grass- 
hopper and  far-bounding  cricket,  and  to  pounce  upon  and 
bag  every  tumbling  beetle  of  the  plain. 

Such  industry  the  messenger  had  found  at  the  camp; 
but  the  able-bodied,  capable  of  larger  duties,  had  vanished 
up  the  wild  valleys,  and  scattered  along  the  flanks  of  Tacoma, 
to  change  their  lowland  diet  for  that  of  the  mountain-side; 
—  while  the  fresh  horses  I  should  have  had  swam  in  the  ver- 
dure of  the  summit  prairies,  the  guide  I  should  have  had  was 
stuffing  by  the  handful  strawberries,  raspberries,  black- 
berries, salal-berries;  and  his  squaws,  with  only  furtive 
tribute  to  their  own  maw,  were  bestowing  the  same  fruits 
into  baskets  for  provident  drying. 

Again  what  was  to  be  done,  for  day  grew  toward  noon, 
and  by  to-morrow  night  I  must  be  at  the  Dalles,  eighty 
miles  away?  My  kind  friends  of  the  mission  were  discus- 
sing whether  the  old  sacristan  could  be  trusted  to  know  the 
trail  and  bear  the  fatigues,  when  Ferdinand  rose,  stepped 
out  of  the  chorus,  to  become  an  actor  in  the  drama,  and  thus 
spoke,  self-prompted: — 


**Fudnun  nika,  pasaiooks;  Ferdinand  I,  blanketeer. 
Siks  nika  copa  Boston  tyee;  friend  I  to  Boston  chief.  Nika 
nanitch  cuitan,  closche  yakah  klatawah;  I've  seen  the  horses, 
they'll  go  well  enough.  Nika  kumtux  Dalles  hooihut,  pe 
tikky  hyack  klatawah r  I  know  the  Dalles  trail,  and  am  ready 
to  go  at  once." 

Excellent  Ferdinand!  What  fine  apparition,  what  quaint 
Ariel,  doing  his  spiriting  gently,  wooed  thee  to  these  yellow 
sands  of  Atinam,  to  be  my  deliverer?  Sweet  youth,  thou 
shalt  have  a  back-load  of  trinkets  to  carry  to  thy  Miranda 
when  we  part.    Fudnun,  the  blanketeer,  let  us  go. 

My  new  comrade  showed  Boston  energy.  He  drove  up 
the  three  horses  at  once.  Rest  and  bunch-grass  at  dis- 
cretion had  revived  them.  A  tough  journey  was  before  us, 
but  thus  far  they  had  not  failed  in  the  face  of  worse  diffi- 
culties than  we  were  to  meet.  For  a  supplement,  the  mission- 
aries lent  me  a  mare  of  theirs,  to  be  ridden  as  far  as  her  foal 
would  follow,  and  left  on  the  prairie  for  Ferdinand  to  pick 
up  on  return.  The  kindness  of  these  gentlemen  went  with 
me  after  my  departure. 

Adieu,  therefore,  to  the  good  fathers,  and  may  they  be 
requited  in  better  regions  of  earth,  or  better  than  earth, 
for  their  hospitality.  Adieu,  Kamaiakan,  prudent  and 
weighty  chief!  fate  grant  thee  a  coat  of  fewer  patches,  a 
nobler  robe  of  state.  Adieu  the  old  lay  brother.  Uplintz 
and  Kpawintz,  my  merry  pair,  continue  foes  of  the  rattle- 
snake, and  friends  to  the  blue-shirted  Boston  men. 


"And  now  that  I  am  on  the  tariff  for  squaw's, — dry  goods 
buy  them  as  sometimes  in  Christendom.  The  conven- 
tional price  is  expressed  in  blankets.  Blankets  paid 
to  papa  buy:  five,  a  drudge;  ten,  a  cook  and  basket- 
maker;  twenty,  a  fine  article  of  squaw,  learned  in  the 
kamas-beds,  and  with  skull  flat  as  a  shingle;  fifty,  a 
very  superior  article,  ruddy  with  vermilion  and 
skilled  in  embroidering  buckskin  with  porcupine- 
quills;  and  one  hundred  blankets,  a  princess,  with 
the  beauty  and  accomplishments  of  her  rank.  Mothers 
in  civilization  will  be  pleased  to  compare  these 
with   their   current  rates." 

—Chapter  XIII. 




A  little  before  noon  we  left  the  hut  of  blue  mud,  the 
mission  of  Atinam.  We  forded  the  shallow  river,  and  Fer- 
dinand cheerily  led  the  way  straight  up  the  steep  hillside. 
From  its  summit  I  could  overlook,  for  farewell,  the  parallel 
ranges,  walls  of  my  three  valleys  of  adventure.  There  were 
no  forests  over  those  vast  arid  mounds  to  narrow  the  view. 
Hills  of  Weenas,  hills  of  Nachchese,  valley  of  Atinam, —  I 
took  my  last  glance  over  their  large  monotony. 

I  might  glance  over  the  landscape,  and  recall  my  crowded 
life  in  it,  only  while  the  horses  breathed  after  their  climb, 
and  no  longer.  If  not  eighty,  certainly  sixty  miles  away 
over  the  mountains  is  the  Columbia,  Achilles  of  rivers. 
And,  says  Ferdinand,  "it  must  be  a  race  all  day  with  time, 
all  night  with  time,  a  close  race  with  time  to-morrow."  If 
uncertainty  of  success  is  a  condition  of  success,  we  shall  win 
the  race.  But  no  dalliance,  no  staying  to  study  landscape; 
we  must  on,  steadily  as  the  Princess  Parizade,  whatever 
sermons  there  be  in  the  stones  along  our  way. 

Vast  were  the  hilly  sweeps  we  overcame.  Nags  of  mine, 
ye  had  toil  that  penultimate  day  of  August.  But  straight 
from  far  snow  cliffs  came  electric  airs,  forerunners  of  the 
nightly  gale.  And  the  sun,  that  it  might  never  be  deemed  a 
cruel  tyrant,  had  provided  remedies  against  its  own  involun- 
tary despotism,  in  streams  from  the  snows  of  Tacoma,  melted 
not  beyond  the  point  of  delicious  coolness.  Snow  crystals 
married  with  sunbeams  came  gliding  down  the  valleys  on 
their  wedding  tour.    Down  the  gorges  in  the  basalt,  and  so 


by  pool  and  plunge,  the  transfigured  being,  a  new  element, 
poured  to  the  pebbly  reaches  below.  Whenever  we  had 
climbed  the  long  bulk  of  a  dusty  hillside,  dreary  with  wild 
sage,  a  stunted  and  abortive  tree,  the  mean  ensign  of  barren- 
ness, and  then  descended  the  hot,  thirsty  slopes  of  a  de- 
clivity as  dreary,  down  in  the  valley  always  we  found  the 
antidote  to  dust,  thirst,  and  sterility,  the  precious  boon  of 
water  hidden  among  grass  and  trees, —  sunshine's  gift 
brought  from  the  snows  to  cure  the  pangs  of  sunshine. 
Sparkling  draughts  of  water  were  ready  in  vale  after  vale. 
I  had  but  to  stoop  from  my  saddle  while  Klale  drank,  and 
scoop  the  bright  flow  in  a  leather  cup  long  dedicated  to 
^gle,  in  classic  fountains  of  historic  lands. 

Ferdinand's  temptation  and  test  of  faithfulness  befell 
him  before  we  had  gone  two  leagues  on  our  way.  As  the 
fates  threw  Shabbiest  in  the  path  of  Loolowcan,  now  Fer- 
dinand's tempter  appeared.  One  watches  his  man  narrowly 
at  such  a  moment.  Which  Janus-face  will  he  turn?  the  one 
that  sees  the  past,  or  the  one  that  looks  toward  the  future? 
Will  he  be  the  bold  and  true  radical,  or  the  slinking  con- 
servative? The  combat,  with  its  Parthian  flights  and  Pyrrhic 
victories,  is  generally  more  briefly  called  life,  and  its  result 

Thus  far  I  had  only  the  coarse  public  facts  on  Ferdinand 
as  a  theme  for  analysis.  When  Mystery  takes  care  that  a 
man  shall  exist,  and  have  a  few  years'  career  in  villany  or 
heroism.  Mystery  also  takes  care  to  set  upon  the  man's 
front  a  half -decipherable  inscription.  Fudnun  was  attract- 
ive, not  repulsive,  in  the  traits  that  mark  character.  By 
physiognomy,  I  deemed  him  a  truish  man,  a  goodish  fellow, 
a  wiseish  nomad.  But  how  was  I  to  know  what  education 
had  made  of  him?  what  indiscriminate  vengeance  he  might 
have  in  his  heart?  what  treachery  in  return  for  other  blan- 
keteers'  treachery?  The  same  spirit  of  our  darksome  en- 
lightenment that  makes  slavery  possible,  makes  maltreat- 


ment  of  Indians  certain.  Fiidnun  might  feel  himself  nomi- 
nated to  punish  in  me  the  wrongs  of  his  race. 

The  Indian  who  was  to  be  Fudnun's  Mephistophiles  was 
riding  seemingly  astray  and  purposeless  across  the  world, 
like  an  Indian.  But  when  the  stranger,  coming  full  tilt 
through  a  bending  defile,  saw  us,  it  was  too  late  to  skulk.  He 
pulled  up  his  wild  black  horse,  noticed  me  with  a  cool  How- 
dydo,  and  opened  fire  upon  Fudnun,  with  gutturals  not  at 
all  cheerful.  Fudnun  informed  me  that  the  tenor  of  the 
newcomer's  oration  was  like  Shabbiest's  to  Loolowcan, 

So,  then,  big  Brownskin  on  a  fiery  black  mustang,  inferior 
chief  with  shirt  and  leggins  of  buckskin  reddened  with  clay, 
sulky  siwash  of  Skloo's  band,  armed  with  gun  and  knife, — 
thou  too  art  inhospitable  to  the  parting  guest, —  thou 
too  art  unwilling  that  by  the  aid  of  Fudnun,  my  friend, 
I  should  speed  out  of  the  country  toward  the  Columbia. 
Now,  then,  none  of  this!    Avaunt!    Make  tracks! 

But  he  declined  to  make  tracks,  and  held  the  too  facile 
Ferdinand  in  powwow.  I  questioned  in  my  prudent  heart 
whether  I  should  do  what  I  twitched  to  do,  namely,  use 
the  Owhhigh  whip  upon  this  scowling  interloper.  The 
wristlet  of  otter-fur  tightened  in  my  grasp;  I  shook  the  long 
lash  carelessly  about  the  sturdy  legs  of  the  wiry  horse  of 
Brownskin  the  Tempter,  stinging  them  restive,  horse  and 
man.  With  revengeful  venom  of  the  blackest  in  his  mind, 
the  copper-headed,  snaky  beguiler  continued  his  solicita- 
tions, urging  Ferdinand,  as  that  excellent  worthy  afterwards 
told  me,  not  merely  to  desert,  but  to  aid  in  a  scheme  of  pil- 
lage, and  whatever  outrage  might  precede  or  follow  pillage. 

Ferdinand,  as  I  trusted,  was  proof  against  the  wily 
wheedler,  though  he  sputtered  poisonously  in  a  language 
I  knew  not.  Ferdinand  at  last  shook  off  that  serpent  in- 
fluence, and  turned  toward  the  trail.  Copper-head,  baffled, 
gave  me  a  glance  with  a  bite  in  it,  and  galloped  away,  too 


much  enraged  to  ask  more  barbarico  for  all  my  valuables  as 
a  present. 

"Ha,  ha!"  chuckled  Fudnun,  shaking  his  head,  showing 
his  white  teeth,  and  seeming  as  happy  as  a  schoolgirl  with 
a  new  conundrum;  "ha,  ha!"  chuckled  he,  as  if  this  were  a 
joke  of  the  freshest.  "Yaka  tikky  memloose  mika  pe  cap- 
sualla  conoway  ikta;  he  want  kill  you  and  steal  all  the  traps. 
Halo  nika;  not  at  all  I.  Wake  kahquah  kliminwhit  Fud- 
nun,—  wake  cultus  man  ocook;  not  so  is  Fudnun  a  liar, 
—  no  dastard  he." 

Certainly  not,  Fudnun  the  Trusty!  I  divined  you  rightly, 
then.  Your  Janus-face  points  aright.  You  are  not  a  spoilt 
Indian.  I  set  you  in  the  scale  against  Loolowcan  the  Frowzy, 
and  once  more  half  believe  in  honesty  of  barbarians.  Having 
defied  temptation,  henceforth  you  are  true. 

Fudnun  had  thus  far  ridden  the  mission  mare,  while 
Gubbins  pranced  bareback.  Now  the  foal  began  to  sigh 
for  his  native  heath,  and  shrink  from  strange,  wild  scenes. 
We  therefore  stopped,  and  turned  them  out  into  the  wide 
world.  They  could  wallow  in  the  long  sedges  therealong, 
and  drink  of  the  brook.  No  Indian  of  all  the  country-side 
would  allow  his  thievish  heart  to  covet  an  animal  with  the 
mission  brand.  Me,  or  any  other  intrusive  pasaiooks,  he 
might  rob  of  beast  or  the  burden  of  beast,  but  whatever  be- 
longed to  the  priests  was  taboo.  And  if  mission  property 
could  not  protect  itself,  woe  be  to  the  thief  when  the  green, 
gleaming  coat  of  the  dread  inevitable  Kamaiakan  was  seen 
along  his  trail. 

Gubbins  must  again  endure  a  rider  more  humane  than 
Loolowcan.  Antipodes's  packs  were  now  ridiculously  light, 
as  ^sop's  bag  at  the  end  of  the  journey.  We  could  press 
on  fleet  over  hill  and  dale,  on  and  on,  steadily  riding  as  if 
we  bore  tidings  of  joy,  or  rode  for  succor  for  the  beleaguered 
of  a  starving  city.  On,  never  flagging,  we  sped,  and  drew, 
as  day  waned,  toward  the  wooded  mountains.  Never  a 
moment  we  rested,  traversing  tenantless  wastes,  until  deep 


in  the  afternoon  we  came  to  a  large,  pure  well  of  exquisite 
water,  predicted  by  Ferdinand,  wisest  of  nomads. 

There,  in  a  glade  emeralded  with  richest  of  grass,  I  re- 
posed, elaborating  strength  for  my  night  ride.  Meanwhile, 
my  horses,  with  never  a  leg  the  less  than  when  I  proved  them 
on  the  macadam  of  Squally,  swallowed  green  landscape  fast, 
as  if  they  feared  this  feast  were  a  mirage,  and  the  water-sprite 
would  presently  roll  up  her  green  drapery  and  vanish.  The 
horses,  with  or  without  fancies  or  forethought,  instinctively 
made  ready  for  the  coming  trial. 

Sweet  are  such  episodes  of  travel  in  the  fair  spots  of 
earth.  Sweet,  though  the  fare  be  but  pork  toasted  on  a 
stick,  and  hardtack  to  which  mustiness  has  but  slightly 
penetrated.  And  if  after  feast  so  Spartan,  before  a  night 
to  be  sleepless,  a  siesta  propose  itself,  who  will  refuse?  Not 
the  wise  traveller,  to  whom  sleep  or  food  never  come  amiss. 
By  the  Fountain  of  Fudnun  the  Jolly,  to  whom  in  less  busy 
times  life  was  a  long  joke,  sleep,  or  repose  not  quite  losing 
consciousness,  might  be  permitted.  For  now  my  doubts 
of  winning  the  race  were  beheaded  by  trenchant  intuitions 
of  success,  and  wriggled  away  into  the  background.  Such 
doubts  necessarily  forecrawl  a  man  on  the  march  toward 
any  object;  it  is  well  if  he  can  timely  destroy  them,  lest  they 
trip  up  the  rider's  hopeful  ardor. 

Distance,  lying  in  long  coils  from  Whulge  onward,  I  had 
nearly  trampled  to  death;  its  great  back  showed  marks  of 
my  victorious  hoofs;  only  the  head  reared  itself,  monstrous 
and  unsubdued.  One  more  great  rampart  of  mountains 
must  be  stormed,  and  for  this  final  assault  Klale,  Anti- 
podes, and  Gubbins  were  still  taking  in  such  stuff  as  courage 
is  made  of.  Feed  on,  trusty  trio;  I  love  the  sound  of  those 
jaws.  It  racks  my  heart  to  know  that  I  must  still  demand 
much  go-ahead  of  you.  But  though  an  exacting,  I  have 
been  a  merciful  master.  Ye  have  had  long  grass,  to  be  di- 
gested into  leaps,  short  grass  for  walking  material,  and 
sometimes  a  prairie-flower  for  inspiring  a  demivolt.    I  have 


whipped  you,  Antipodes,  but  have  I  whaled  you?  And  now 
that  you  have  taken  your  fill  of  grass,  long,  short,  and  flow- 
ery, let  us  away,  to  climb  the  great  ridges  before  nightfall. 

We  came,  not  long  before  sunset,  to  the  great  mountain 
range, —  another  buttress  of  the  Cascade  system.*  Full 
against  the  plain  rose  a  bulky  earthwork.  Klickatats  on 
mustangs  had  been,  ever  since  Klickatats  first  learned  to 
ride,  forever  assaulting  this  fortress  in  elaborate  zigzags 
engineered  with  skill.  And  here,  for  fifteen  hundred  feet, 
we  too  must  climb,  driving  our  horses  before  us;  we  bending 
forward,  and  they  struggling  up  on  tiptoe  and  consuming 
energy  far  too  rapidly. 

The  sun  was  prematurely  gone  when  we  reached  the 
edge  of  easier  slope  above  this  mural  front.  Where  I  should 
have  seen,  westward,  the  Cascades  and  Tacoma  bright  as 
sunny  cloud,  but  firmer  than  cloud,  were  now  no  mountains 
black  with  pines,  was  no  Tacoma  against  the  rose  of  sunset. 
A  gloomy  purple  storm  lay  over  the  Cascades,  vaster  than 
they.  A  m.ass  of  thunderous  darkness  had  swept  in  from 
ocean,  and  now  stayed  majestic,  overlooking  the  wide  world. 
Would  it  retreat  with  the  sun,  to  do  havoc  wherever  white 
sails  were  strained  in  hopeless  flight,  and  whirl  the  spray 
from  wTecking  coral-reefs  to  the  calm  lagoons  within?  Or 
would  it  take  a  night  of  Titanic  revelry  among  the  everlast- 
ing hills,  toppling  crag  into  chasm,  shaking  down  avalanches 
to  drown  their  roar  with  roar  of  louder  thunder,  tossing 
great  trees  over  into  the  torrents  to  see  their  strong  death- 
struggle  in  the  foam,  by  the  ghastly  beauty  of  lightning, 
revealing  a  spectacle  born  and  dead  in  an  instant?  Or  must 
it,  with  no  choice  of  its  own,  range  with  the  whirl  of  the  globe, 
taking  giant  pleasure  or  doing  giant  ruin  as  the  chances  of 
Nature  offered?  Which  of  these  was  to  be  the  destiny  of 
that  purple  storm,  poised  and  lowering  over  the  hidden 
mountains?  I  could  divine  its  decision,  or  its  obedience,  by 
prophetic  puffs  of  roasted  air,  that  ever  and  anon,  in  a  sudden 
*  The    Simcoe  Mountains. 


calm  that  had  now  befallen,  smote  me,  as  if  some  impish 
urchin,  one  of  the  pages  of  ^Eolus,  dancing  on  a  piping  wind- 
bag, was  looking  my  way  and  smiting  his  breezy  cheeks. 

Beside  that  envelope  of  storm  hiding  the  west  from 
floor  to  cope,  there  was  only  to  be  seen,  now  softened 
with  dull  violet  haze,  the  large,  rude  region  of  my  day's 
gallop, —  thirty  miles  of  surging  earth,  seamed  with  fre- 
quent valleys  of  streams  flowing  eastward,  where  scanty 
belts  of  timber  grew  by  the  waterside. 

'VVTien  August's  sun,  the  remorseless,  is  gone,  whether 
behind  the  ragged  rims  of  a  hurricane  or  the  crest  of  a  sierra, 
men  and  horses  revive  in  that  long  shade.  Twilight  is 
sweet  and  restoring  in  itself,  and  also  to  an  unforeseeing  trio 
of  mustangs,  as  promising  the  period  when  men  encamp  and 
horses  are  unsaddled.  Therefore,  now,  although  the  air  was 
hea\'y  and  the  light  lurid,  we  chased  along  the  trail,  mounting 
slowly  ever,  and  winding  on  through  files  of  pines; — vigor- 
ously we  chased  on,  as  if  twilight  of  eve  were  twilight  of 
da\Mi,  and  our  day  but  now  begun. 

Among  the  silent  pines,  deeper  into  the  darkening  wood. 
But  the  same  power  that  swept  darkness  forward  in  a  steady 
growing  inundation,  banished  also  silence.  The  overcoming 
storm  was  battling  with  stillness,  and  slowly  enveloping 
the  strife  with  thicker  and  thicker  pall,  such  as  hangs  over 
fields  trod  by  the  loud  agonies  of  war. 

A  far  forerunner  of  the  gale  struck  suddenly  upon  the 
mountain-front,  like  an  early  shot  of  battle,  fired  to  know 
the  death  range.  While  the  roar  of  this  first  blast  was  pass- 
ing away,  and  the  trees  were  swaying  back  to  stillness,  a 
fugue  of  growling  winds  came  following  after.  The  alarmed 
whispers  from  leaf  to  leaf  grew  thicker  now,  joining  to  an 
undertone  of  delicate  wailing  a  liquid  sound,  but  sad,  like 
the  noise  of  a  waterfall  falling  all  the  hours  into  a  sunless 
pool  where  one  lies  drowned  because  his  life  and  soul  could 
bear  life  and  light  no  longer.  Again,  with  gush  of  blacker 
darkness,  came  a  throng  of  blasts  tramping  close;  and  after 


them  was  seeming  calm, —  calm  only  in  seeming,  and  filled 
with  the  same  whispers  of  alarm,  the  same  dreary,  feeble 
wail,  and  now  with  sobs  desperate,  irrepressible. 

Fitful  bursts  of  weeping  rain  were  now  coming  thicker, 
until  control  ceased,  and  the  floods  fell  with  no  interval, 
borne  on  furiously,  dashing  against  every  upright  object 
as  great  crushing  wave-walls  smite  on  walls  of  cliff  by  the 
seaside.  The  surges  of  wind  were  mightier  than  the  fu- 
rious rain  drift,  and  with  their  strength  and  their  roaring 
came  the  majesty  of  thunder,  constant  as  the  wind.  Long 
ago,  from  where  the  clouds  lay  solid  on  the  mountains, 
great  booming  sounds  had  come,  as  if  these  masses  rolling 
over  the  summits  had  struck  with  muffled  crash  upon  crags 
below;  and  when  those  purple  glooms  stayed  in  hesitating 
poise  upon  the  Cascades,  lightnings  were  passing  in  among 
them,  calling  them  together  for  the  march,  and  signalling 
on  the  laggards.  Now  a  great  outer  continent,  a  belt  of 
storm  world,  was  revolving  over  earth,  and  shaping  itself 
to  the  region  it  traversed.  In  this  storm  zone,  revealed  by 
the  scenic  flames  of  neighbor  lightning,  were  mountains 
huger  than  any  ever  heaped  by  Titanic  forces  assaulting 
heaven  from  earth.  There  were  sudden  clefts,  and  ravines 
with  long  sweeping  flanks,  and  chasms  where  a  cloud  moun- 
tain-side had  fallen  in,  leaving  a  precipice  all  ragged  and 
ruinous,  ready  itself  to  fall.  There  were  plateaus  and  surgy 
sweeps  of  cloud-land,  valleys  of  gentleness,  dells  sweet  and 
placid,  passes  by  toppling  crags  from  vale  to  vale,  great 
stairways  up  to  Alpine  levels  on  high,  garden-like  Arcadias 
among  horrent  heights,  realms  changefully  splendid, —  all 
revealed  by  the  undulations  of  broad,  rosy  lightning  and 
lightning's  violet  hues,  where  it  shone  through  their  gloom 
of  clouds.  These  clouds  so  black  and  terrible,  hurrying  on  a 
night  so  black  and  dreary,  were  not  then  terrible  and  dreary 
in  themselves,  but  only  while  there  Vv^as  no  light  to  prove 
their  beauty, —  when  light  gleamed,  they  shone  transcendent. 

Lightning,  besides  its  business  of  revelation,  had  some 


"One  cannot  know  too  much  of  a  nature's  nobleman. 
Tacoma  the  second,  which  Yankees  call  Mt.  Adams,  is 
a  clumsier  repetition  of  its  greater  brother,  but  noble 
enough  to  be  the  pride  of  a  continent." 

— Chapter  III. 




.nsxnaldon  a'siuj 
9ldon  iud  ,i9rfic. 



gymnastic  feats  of  its  own  to  show  the  world;  to  spring  at 
some  great  round-topped,  toppling  cloud-crag,  and  down  to 
the  valleys  beneath;  to  shoot  through  tunnels  of  darkness, 
and  across  chasms,  hanging  a  bending  line  of  light  athwart, 
like  the  cable  bridges  of  the  Andes. 

Lightning  was  also  casting  blinding  splendors  over  the 
permanent  world  below  the  storm.  Wherever  the  trail  bent 
tov/ard  the  vantage  edges  of  the  mountain-side,  every  flash 
disclosed  magnificent  breadth  of  lonely  landscape,  and  then 
the  vision  was  instantly  limited  to  the  dense  darkness  around, 
darker  to  dazzled  eyes.  But  soon  there  were  no  such  mo- 
ments of  darkness  nor  any  silence.  Thunder- tone  flowed  into 
thunder-tone,  as  blasts  had  thickened  to  a  gale,  and  lightning 
made  pervading  light,  flickering  and  unsteady  as  fevered 

Such  was  the  machinery  of  this  drama,  and  as  to  the 
actors,  I  and  my  party,  what  of  them? 

Wet  were  they  all,  yea,  drenched.  And  why  should  not 
a  little  biped  be  drenched?  It  is  an  honor  to  the  like  of  him 
that  splendid  phenomena  should  take  the  trouble  to  notice 
him  even  with  ridicule.  And  drenching  by  an  August  thun- 
derstorm is  not  chilly  misery.  Nor  are  men  on  a  hooihut 
considering  damage  to  their  integuments.  On  a  hooihut, 
we  wear  no  tiles  that  to-morrow  will  be  pulp;  nor  coats  with 
power  to  shrink  and  never  again  be  shapely.  Therefore, 
while  the  air  beat  upon  us  with  electric  thrills,  and  the  fu- 
rious excitements  of  the  tempest  were  around  us,  we  dashed 
along  the  narrow  thread  of  the  trail  between  the  innumer- 
able pines, —  dashed  along,  acting  with  the  might  of  the 
storm,  as  if  we  were  a  part  of  it,  and  re-acting  with  ardors  of 
our  own  against  its  fury. 

Ferdinand,  \\Tapped  in  a  white  blanket,  led  the  way; 
Antipodes  followed  as  main  body;  Klale  and  I  were  the 
third  division  of  my  army.  Flooded  lightning  showed  us  our 
slender  path  winding  up  the  illumined  vista,  and  marked 
more  clearly,  in  the  long,  coarse  mountain  grass,  by  rain  pools. 


For  all  the  ceaselessness  of  flashes  there  would  sometimes 
be  moments  of  utter  darkness,  when  the  eyes  closed  involun- 
tarily, and  the  look  blenched,  confounded,  and  dazzled  by 
the  sudden  gloom.  Then  the  vista  would  disappear,  the 
path  be  blotted  out,  and  Ferdinand,  white  blanketeer,  be 
annulled,  so  far  as  vision  knew.  But  before  night  could 
gain  power  from  permanence,  or  my  guide  could  lose  his 
last  ocular  image  of  the  silver  pathway,  again  flashes  went 
curving  above  us,  the  floods  of  light  poured  forth,  and  the 
forest  was  betrayed  as  if  clear  noon  were  master. 

The  path  had  now  bent  inward,  away  from  the  edge  of 
the  mountain.  Under  the  roofing  pines  we  could  see  no 
more  the  stormy  pageantry.  The  straight  black  trunks 
opened  before  us;  we  were  to  go  on,  on,  guided  by  the  beauti- 
ful ghastliness  of  lightning,  fit  illumination  of  terrible  rites 
in  the  penetralia  of  this  austere  forest.  Very  wet  neophytes 
we  should  arrive  in  the  presence  of  whatever  antique  hiero- 
phant  there  might  be  wonder-working  within  the  roofless 
sanctuary  whither  the  lightning  was  leading  us. 

By  this  time  the  grandeurs  of  the  storm  were  ended. 
Madness  and  pangs  died  away  into  sullen  grief.  Passion 
was  over;  tame  realities  were  coming.  There  had  been  a 
majestic  overture  crowded  with  discordant  concords,  and 
there  was  nothing  left  for  the  opera  but  dull  recitative. 
Night  became  undramatic;  sulky  instead  of  inspired;  grizzly 
instead  of  splendorous.  Solid  rain  now  took  the  place  of 
atmosphere.  While  the  storm  rampaged,  it  was  adven- 
turous and  heroic  to  breast  it;  now  our  journey  became  an 
offensive  plod.  So  long  as  lightning  declared  the  path,  it  was 
exciting  to  chase  therein;  our  present  meaner  guide  was  the 
sound  of  our  own  splashing  in  the  trail. 

Ferdinand  still  led  on,  finding  the  way  by  instinct.  He 
could  see  naught,  and  I  could  see  not  even  him  in  his  white 
toga,  except  when  some  belated  flash  of  the  rear-guard 
turned  its  lantern  hither  and  thither,  seeking  its  comrades. 
We  kept  together  by  whistling  to  and  fro.     Observe  this 


fact;  for  it  is  said  that  Indians  do  not  whistle.  Also  that 
they  eat  no  pork.  For  this  latter  reason  some  have  connected 
them  with  the  Lost  Tribes.  With  regard  to  the  latter  charge, 
I  can  speak  from  a  considerable  range  of  induction.  Indians 
only  eat  no  pork  when  they  have  no  pork.  Not  one  to  whom 
I  have  offered  that  viand  of  low  civilization  ever  refused  it, 
but  clutched  it  with  more  or  less  ardor,  proportioned  to  his 
state  of  repletion  at  the  moment.  My  facts  for  induction 
on  whistling  among  the  red  men  are  fewer.  This  one,  how- 
ever, I  present  confidently:  Fudnun  the  Blanketeer  whistled 

Ours  was  but  a  faint  trail,  rarely  traversed,  often  illeg- 
ible, even  by  full  daylight,  to  untrained  eyes,  as  I  learned 
afterwards.  What  wonder,  then,  that  we  wandered  often 
and  that  the  keenness  of  Fudnun's  vision  was  often  tried, 
as  he  peered  about  and  searched  by  intelligent  zigzags  in 
the  darkness  of  night,  under  the  darkness  of  pines,  along  the 
matted,  muffling  grass,  for  the  slight  clew  of  our  progress? 
What  wonder,  then,  that  at  last  we  erred  totally,  and 
searched  in  vain? 

"Halo  klap;  no  find,"  said  Fudnun  the  Trusty,  coming 
back  rather  disconsolate. 

Perforce  of  the  great  controls  of  Nature,  we  must  submit, 
and  take  this  night  involuntary  rest,  quite  lost  in  the  forest. 

Fudnun  unsaddled.  The  horses  could  show  no  dislike 
to  their  fare.  The  grass  was  long,  plenteous,  and  every 
blade  was  hung  with  lubricating  rain-drops.  Meanwhile, 
I,  groping  about,  found  some  bits  of  punk  and  dry  fuel  in 
a  natural  fireplace  hollowed  in  an  ancient  pine,  one  of  the 
giants.  The  genius  loci  here,  being  of  monotonous  cast  of 
mind,  had  given  himself  totally  to  pine  culture.  I  could 
see  nothing,  but  I  had  a  sense  that  immense  rough-barked 
pines  were  standing  all  about,  watching  my  movements, — 
what  was  I  doing,  grubbing  there  at  the  roots  of  their  big 

I  was  at  work  to  light  a  fire.    Fire  was  once  a  thing  to 


be  kept  safe  by  vestals;  but  now  we  can  do  without  them; 
fire  sacred  is  cared  for  on  myriads  of  domestic  hearths;  fire 
profane  is  in  our  pantaloons  pocket.  One  may  evoke  it  in 
an  instant,  as  I  did  now.  The  tricksy  sprite  alighted  in  my 
tindery  tipsoo,  and  presently  involved  my  punk  and  my  chips 
and  all  my  larger  fuel,  as  fast  as  I  could  seek  it,  by  the  grow- 
ing blaze,  among  the  ruins  of  the  forest. 

Fudnun  took  his  supper,  and  soon  was  asleep,  coiled  in 
a  heap  among  the  saddles.  As  for  me,  I  watched  and  drowsed, 
squatted  before  the  fire,  mummied  in  my  blankets.  Not  a 
position,  certainly,  for  cheerful  reveries.  A  drizzle,  thick 
as  metaphysics,  surrounded  me.  In  its  glowing  cavity  was 
my  fire,  eating  its  way  slowly  into  the  dead  old  heart  of  the 
tree,  baking  my  face,  but  not  drying  my  back.  I  was  for- 
tunately hungry,  and  hunger  is  excellent  entertainment. 
A  hungry  man  has  something  to  think  of,  and  if  he  is  his 
own  cook,  something  to  do.  I  frizzled  my  pork  and  toasted 
my  biscuit-chips;  then  I  ate  the  same,  and  that  part  of  the 
frolic  was  over.  I  longed  for  a  tin  cup  of  tea,  well  boiled  and 
bitter,  but  it  was  "water,  water  everywhere,  and  not  a 
drop  to  drink."  I  could  not  concentrate  the  drizzle,  nor  col- 
lect the  drops  from  the  gi-ass,  nor  wring  a  supply  from  my 
wet  clothes, —  no  tea,  then,  the  best  friend  of  the  cam- 
paigner. In  fact,  as  I  could  not  sleep  and  recruit,  and  as 
I  was  in  rather  sorry  plight,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done 
except  to  endure  despondency  and  be  patient. 

Such  pauses  as  this,  midway  in  minor  difficulty,  are 
profitable,  if  patience  can  but  come  up  from  the  rear,  and 
marshal  her  sister  faculties  for  steadier  future  march.  In 
such  isolated  halts  in  a  man's  life,  when  the  future  is  not 
so  certain  as  to  make  him  disdain  the  past,  he  discovers 
the  lessons  there  were  in  empiric  days  or  years,  of  hurry 
and  dash.  In  the  lonely  forest,  dark  with  midnight  and 
storms,  where  his  fire  casts  but  a  gloaming  light, —  in  such 
a  solitude  a  man  self-dependent  will  hear  the  oracles  speak 
to  him  if  they  are  to  speak.    He  who  would  ask  his  fate  at 


Delphi  goes  not  along  the  summer-blooming  plains,  nor 
in  among  the  vine-clad  trellises,  nor  through  the  groves 
of  olives,  gray  and  ancient  in  gentle  realms  of  Arcady.  The 
Delphic  gorge  is  stern  and  wild,  and  would  affright  all  but 
one  who  is  resolute  to  wring  a  favorable  fate  from  the  cave 
of  prophecy.  Poetic  visions  do  not  visit  beds  of  roses,  and 
no  good  thing  or  thought  came  out  of  Sybaris. 

So  there,  "lone  upon  the  mountain,  the  pine-trees  wailing 
round  me,"  I  seemed  to  hear  some  of  those  great  calming 
words  without  which  life  goes  restless,  and  may  not  dream 
of  peace.  For  early,  thoughtful  years  and  eras  of  ours  are 
saddened  and  bewildered  by  the  sting  of  evil,  others'  and 
our  own;  poisonous  bigotries  grapple  with  faith  from  its 
cradle;  we  are  driven  along  the  gauntlet  of  selfishness;  love, 
the  surest  test  of  nobleness,  seems  the  most  hopeless  test, 
discovering  only  the  ignoble;  we  dwell  among  comrades 
of  chance,  not  choice,  and  cannot  find  our  allies;  know  not 
any  other  law  of  growth  than  the  unreflecting  stir  about 
us.  So  instinctive  faith  dies,  and  because  without  faith 
the  soul  dies,  we  must  seek  it,  and  perhaps  wander  for  it 
as  far  and  not  hopefully, —  wander  perhaps  as  far  as  to 
the  forests  of  Tacoma. 

As  I  sat  by  my  fire,  thinking  over  the  wide  world,  and 
feeling  that  I  looked  less  blindly  than  once  upon  its  mys- 
teries, suddenly  I  was  visited  by  a  brilliant  omen. 

All  at  once  the  darksome  forest  became  startlingly  full 
of  light.  A  broad  glare  descended  through  the  lowering 
night,  and  shed  about  me  strange,  weird  lustre.  I  sprang 
up,  and  beheld  a  pillar  of  flame  hung  on  high  in  the  gloom. 

An  omen  quite  too  simply  explicable.  I  had  kindled 
my  fire  in  the  hollow  of  a  giant  dead  trunk.  Flame  slowly 
crept  up  within,  burning  itself  a  way  through  the  dry  core, 
until  it  gained  the  truncated  summit,  sixty  feet  aloft,  and 
leaped  outward  in  a  mighty  flash.  Once  escaped,  after  its 
stealthy  growth,  the  fire  roared  furiously  up  this  chimney 
of  its  own  making.    The  long  flame  streamed  away  from  its 


gigantic  torch,  lashing  among  the  trees  and  tossing  gleams, 
sparks  and  great  red  flakes  into  the  inner  glooms  of  the  wood. 
Nobler  such  an  exit  for  one  of  the  forest  primeval  than  to 
rot  away  and  be  a  century  in  slow  dying.  His  brethren 
around  watched  sombrely  the  funeral  pyre  of  their  brother. 
Their  moaning  to  the  wind  mingled  with  the  roar  of  his  mag- 
nificent death-song. 

Trust  Nature.  None  of  the  thaumaturgists,  strong  in 
magical  splendors,  ever  devised  such  a  spectacle  as  this.  I 
had  fought  my  way,  a  pressing  devotee,  into  the  inner  shrine, 
unbullied  by  the  blare  of  the  tempest,  and  this  was  the  boon 
offered  by  Nature  to  celebrate  my  initiation. 

The  fire  roared,  and  there  was  another  roaring.  Fer- 
dinand snored  roaringly  from  his  coiled  position  among 
the  traps.  A  snore  is  the  expression  of  gratitude  for  sleep, 
not  less  genuine  for  its  unconsciousness.  Every  breath  is  a 
plaudit  to  Morpheus,  the  burlesque  of  a  sigh  of  joy.  Snor- 
ing is  to  sleep  what  laughter  is  to  waking.  Fudnun's  snore 
in  the  solitary  woods,  among  the  great  inarticulate  facts 
of  nature,  was  society  and  conversation.  He  seemed  to 
utter  amens  of  content  in  long-drawn  cadence. 

As  I  could  not  take  my  tall  torch  in  hand  and  be  a  path- 
finder, I  patrolled  about  the  woods,  admiring  it  where  it 
stood,  a  brilliant  beacon.  The  blossom  of  flame  still  un- 
folded, unfading;  and  as  leaf  after  leaf  fell  away  like  the 
petals  of  roses,  other  petals  opened  about  the  unconsumed 
bud.  Firelight  gave  rich  greenness  to  the  dark  pines. 
Sometimes  a  higher  quiver  of  flame  would  seize  an  over- 
hanging branch  and  sally  off  gaily;  but  the  blast  soon  ex- 
tinguished  these  escapades. 

Fire  gnaws  quicker  than  the  tooth  of  Time.  I  was  sitting, 
drowsy  and  cowering,  near  my  furnace,  when  a  warning 
noise  aroused  me.  A  catastrophe  was  at  hand.  Flames 
grew  intenser,  and  careered  with  leaps  more  frantic,  as  now, 
with  a  riving  uproar,  the  giant  old  ti*unk  cut  away  at  its 
base,  cracked,  trembled,  swayed,  and  fell  in  sublime  ruin. 


At  this  strange  tumult,  loud  and  harsh  in  the  dull  dead  of 
night,  the  horses,  affrighted,  looked  up  with  the  light  of  the 
flame  in  their  eyes,  and  then  dashed  off  furiously. 

Fudnun  also  was  startled.  He  woke;  he  uncoiled;  he 
stared;  he  grunted;  he  recoiled;  he  slept;  he  snored. 

Mouldering  away  in  cheerless  ruin  lay  the  trunk  all  along 
in  the  dank  grass.  Its  glory  had  quenched  itself  in  tim.e, 
for  now,  Aurora  being  in  the  sulks,  a  fusty  dawn,  the  slip- 
shod drudge  of  her  palace,  was  come  as  substitute  for 
the  rosy  goddess,  to  wake  the  world  to  malcontent. 
Enchantment  was  perished.  My  torch,  bright  flarer  through 
darkness,  became  mere  kitchen  fuel.  Fudnun  awoke  to 
snore  no  more.  He  squatted  in  a  mass,  warming  his  musty 
members  after  their  bedrizzled  cramps  of  the  night.  Then 
we  toasted  our  pork  over  the  embers,  completing  the  degra- 
dation of  the  pine.  It  had  had  its  centuries  of  dignity, 
while  its  juniors,  lengthening  upward  ungainly,  envied 
its  fair  proportions.  Then  the  juniors  had  times  of  rejoic- 
ing within  their  cortex,  in  their  vegetable  hearts,  when 
glory  of  foliage  fell  away  from  their  senior's  crown,  and 
larger  share  of  sunlight  came  to  the  hungry  youngsters. 
And  now  the  junior  pines  were  in  high  feather  that  an  un- 
sightly monument  of  the  past  and  memento  mori  was  gone, 
and  lay  a  vertebrated  skeleton  of  white  ashes  in  the  glade 
it  sheltered  so  fatherly  once. 

Carved  Stone  Pipe,  from  Grave  near  Fort  Simcoe. 



Klale  the  ardent,  Gubbins  the  punchy,  Antipodes  the 
lubberly,  had  not  stampeded  far  in  their  panic  when  the 
great  pine-tree  torch  fell  crashing  through  the  woods.  Fud- 
nun  easily  recovered  them  by  the  light  of  dawn, —  three 
horses  well  fed  and  well  rested,  three  sinewy  nags,  by  no 
means  likely  to  be  scant  of  breath  through  Falstaffian  fat- 
ness, but  yet  stanch,  and  able  to  travel  the  last  thirty  or 
forty  miles  of  my  journey  before  nightfall. 

Prayerful  for  sunrise  and  sun-born  ardors  in  that  dull 
dawn  were  horses  and  men.  Cold  is  a  bitter  foe  of  courage; 
hot  blood  is  the  only  brave  blood.  All  five  of  us,  the  grazers 
three,  the  snorer  one,  and  the  one  drowsy  watcher,  still 
trembled  with  the  penetrating  chill  of  drizzle  on  the  bleak 
mountain-top.  We  might  not  have  the  instinctive  cheer- 
fulness, child  and  nursling  of  sunshine,  but  we  soon,  by 
way  of  substitute,  made  an  inspiriting  discovery, —  the 
trail.  Like  many  an  exit  from  life's  labyrinths,  it  was 
hidden  only  for  want  of  searching  with  more  light.  We 
pounced  upon  its  first  faint  indications,  and  went  at  such 
full  speed  as  a  night  of  damp  and  cramp  permitted,  with 
as  much  tirra-lirra  in  our  matin  song  of  march  as  might  ring 
through  the  vocal  pipes  of  knights-errant  carrying  colds 
in   their  heads. 

"Nika  klap;  find  um,"  Fudnun  had  shouted,  with  a 
triumphant  burst  of  laughter,  when  he  caught  sight  of  the 
trail,  lurking  serpentine  in  the  grass;  and  now,  having  re- 
covered his  reputation  as  a  pathfinder,  he  would  not  lose 


it  again.  With  single-minded  accuracy  he  kept  this  one  ob- 
ject in  view.  He  fairly  shamed  my  powers  of  observation 
by  his  quick,  unerring  glance.  Shrewd  detective,  he  was 
never  at  fault  wherever  that  eluding  path  dodged  artfully, 
and  became  but  a  shattered  clew  of  escape.  If  ever  the  hoo- 
ihut  disappeared  totally,  like  a  rivulet  sinking  under  ground, 
Fudnun,  as  if  he  bore  a  witch-hazel  divining-rod,  made 
straight  for  the  spot  of  its  reappearance.  Sometimes  for  a 
mile  there  would  be  no  visible  way,  and  I,  seeing  my  guide 
still  galloping  on  confidently  under  the  pines,  over  the  dry 
brown  carpet  of  their  fallen  leaves,  would  call  him,  and  say, 
— "Halo  mitlite  hooihut;  here's  no  trail." 

"Nawitka,  closche  nika  nanitch;  yes,  I  see  it  well,"  Fud- 
nun would  reply,  pointing  where  a  root  had  been  scraped 
by  a  hoof,  or  a  tuft  of  moss  kicked  up,  or  the  brown  pine- 
leaves  trodden  to  a  yellower  tint;  and  presently,  in  softer 
ground,  the  path  would  again  declare  itself  distinctly,  like 
a  pleasant  association  reawakening  in  moments  of  tender- 
ness. Thus  we  hastened  on  through  the  open  pine  woods, 
gaining  distance  merely.  We  fled  on  between  tedious  ranks 
of  yellow  pines,  with  a  raw  wind  chasing  us  and  growing 
icier,  as  we  rode  out  upon  the  bare,  shelterless  slopes  of  the 
lower  regions. 

And  by  and  by,  as  the  trail  disentangled  itself  from  for- 
est and  mountain,  lo,  in  houseless  wilds,  a  house!  an  archi- 
tectural log  cabin. 

"Whose  house,  Fudnun?  What  outpost  sentry-box  of 
Boston  camps  to  come?" 

It  is  the  house  of  Skloo,  Telamon  of  the  Yakimahs,  as 
Owhhigh  is  their  Diomed,  the  horse- thief,  and  Kamaiakan 
their  great-hearted  Agamemnon;  no  advanced  post  of  Bos- 
ton men,  but  a  refuge  of  the  siwashes,  between  two  fires 
of  pale-faces  advancing  westward  and  eastward. 

The  cabin  was  deserted.  Skloo  and  the  braves  of  Skloo 
were  gone  over  moor  and  fell,  gone  by  canon  and  prairie, 
gone  after  salmon,  grasshoppers,  berries,  kamas, —  after  all 



Indian  luxuries  and  wants,  including  pillage  of  pasaiooks 
and  foes  of  their  own  color,  when  to  be  had  without  peril. 
The  cabin  of  Telamon  Skloo  stood,  lonely  and  deserted,  in 
a  spot  where  the  world  looked  large,  and  yellow  prairies 
rushed  out  of  the  forest,  billowing  broadly  southward,  to- 
ward the  desolate  ranges,  walls  of  the  Columbia.  As  well, 
perhaps,  that  Skloo  was  an  absentee  and  his  house  shut; 
Skloo,  with  a  house  on  his  back  and  a  roof  over  his  head, 
would  have  been  totally  neutralized  as  a  nomad  chief.    He 

SKLOO  :     A  Chief  of  the  Yakimas. 

would  have  lost  Skloo  the  Klickatat  rover,  with  whatever 
interest  or  value  he  had  in  that  relation,  and  have  been  pre- 
cipitated to  the  level  of  any  Snooks  in  Christendom,  dweller 
in  villa  or  box. 

I  did  not  envy  Skloo  his  stationary  property  of  house; 
certain  mobile  chattels  of  his  I  did  envy  him  greatly. 
A  band  of  his  horses  were  feeding  in  this  spot  of  the  unfenced 
world.  They  did  not  heed  our  roadster  passage  as  we  drag- 
gled by,  much  the  worse  for  wearing  travel.  They  noticed 
us  no  more  than  a  wary  old  grouse  notices  a  gunless  man. 
Antipodes  felt  the  thoughtless  dolt  stir  again  within  him; 


he  forgot  how  he  had  been  taught  who  was  his  master,  and, 
with  packs  flapping  like  rapid  pinions,  he  bolted,  to  join  that 
free  cavalcade.  Fudnun  instantly  educated  him  severely 
back  into  line. 

Just  then,  over  a  swell  of  the  ripe,  yellow  prairie,  came  at 
full  speed,  on  a  coal-black  horse,  a  young  Indian,  with  his 
long  hair  uncovered  and  streaming  in  the  wind  as  he  galloped. 
On  he  rode, —  a  cavalier  free  and  bold,  without  saddle  or 
stirrups,  whirling  his  lasso  with  arm  outstretched.  He  made 
straight  for  the  band  of  grazing  horses,  and  the  unwarning 
blast  blew  from  them  toward  him,  as  they  stood  curiously 
watching  our  slow  tramp  along  the  trail.  So  the  untamed 
horses  of  Skloo's  prairie  did  not  sniff  or  see  or  hear  the  new- 
comer until  he  was  close  upon  them  and  the  whizz  of  his 
whirling  lasso  sang  in  their  ears.  Then  they  tossed  their  proud 
heads,  shook  their  plumage  of  mane,  and,  with  a  snort  of  dis- 
gust at  their  unwatchf ulness,  sprang  into  full  speed  of  flight. 
They  bent  toward  us,  and  crossed  the  trail  not  a  hundred 
yards  before  us.  Their  pursuer  was  riding  almost  parallel 
with  them.  As  they  dashed  by,  he  flung  his  lasso  at  a  noble 
black,  galloping  with  head  elate  and  streaming  mane  and 

The  loop  of  the  lasso,  preserving  its  circle  with  geomet- 
rical accuracy,  seemed  to  hang  an  instant  in  the  air,  waiting 
for  its  certain  captive. 

Will  he  be  taken?    Must  he  be  enthralled? 

Not  so.  A  glorious  escape!  While  the  loop  of  the  lasso 
hung  poised,  the  black  had  sprung  through  it  unerringly, — ■ 
straight  through  its  open  circle, —  touching  it  only  to  spurn 
with  his  hindmost  hoof,  and  then  with  the  excitement  of 
his  success  he  burst  forward,  and  took  the  lead  of  all  that 
wild  throng,  dashing  on  like  the  wind.* 

But  not  at  all  for  this  failure  and  overcast  did  the  speed 
of  the  headlong  chaser  lessen.     He  did  not  even  turn  for 

*  SeeJohnBrent,  Chapter  IIL,  where  Winthrop  makes  the  horse  Don 
Fulano  perform  the  same  feat. 



my  applause  at  the  circus-like  "act  of  horsemanship"  he  had 
afforded  me  in  this  spacious  amphitheatre.  His  powerful 
coal-black  horse  still  sped  on  fleet  as  before,  close  upon  the 
parti-colored  regiment,  and  the  rider  had  his  lasso  quickly 
in  hand,  and  coiled  for  a  fresh  cast,  more  cautious.  Far  as 
we  could  see  over  the  undulations  of  the  tawny  plain,  so 
beautifully  boundless,  the  herd  was  stretching  on,  rather 
in  joyous  escapade  than  coward  flight;  and  just  apart  from 

Chief  of  the  Walla  Wallas. 

them,  their  pursuer  still  held  tireless  and  inevitable  gallop, — 
his  right  arm  raised  and  whirling  with  imperceptible  mo- 
tion the  lasso,  now  invisible  in  the  distance. 

My  good-will  was  with  the  dappled  herd  of  runaways, 
rather  than  with  the  bronze  horseman  in  chase.  The  cap- 
ture of  any  wild  stampeder  would  begin  or  renew  his  his- 
tory of  maltreatment,  as  some  of  them  already  knew  from 
past  experience,  and  were  flying  now  with  remembrance  of 
abuse  as  well  as  for  the  instinct  of  freedom.  There  are  no 
absolutely  wild  horses  in  the  Northwest.  All  the  cavalier 
Indians  have  their  numerous  bands  of  horses,  broken  and 
unbroken,  and  wild  enough,  following  the  nomad  movements 

B   em-':-/' 
831    ■'. 

From  the  hills  on  the  north  bank,  east  of  The  Dalles. 

"Before  me  lay  a  region  like  the  Valley  of  Death,  rugged, 
bleak,  and  severe.  A  tragical  valley,  where  the  forces 
of  Nature  had  fallen  into  despairs  and  ugly  warfare, 
*  *  *  Mount  Hood,  across  the  valley,  became  a 
cruel  reminder  of  the  unattainable.  It  was  brilliantly 
near,  yet  coldly  far  away,  like  some  mocking  bliss  never 
to  be  mine,  though  it  might  insult  me  forever  by  its 
scornful  presence." 

—Chapter  XIII. 


of  the  tribe.  It  is  a  rough,  punchy,  hardy  stock,  utterly 
unkempt  and  untaught,  but  capable  of  taking  care  of  itself, 
and  capable  also,  according  to  the  law  of  barbarism,  of  pro- 
ducing chance  individuals  of  size,  strength,  and  beauty. 
Bucephalus  is  the  exception;  Rosinante  the  rule.  Buceph- 
alus is  worth  a  first-class  squaw,  or  possibly  two  of  those 
vexatious  luxuries  of  a  cheaper  grade.  Rosinantes  go  about 
five  to  the  squaw.*  Papa  gets  the  price;  not  as  in  civiliza- 
tion, where,  when  a  squaw  sells  herself  for  a  Bucephalus,  a 
brougham,  and  a  black  coachman,  she  keeps  and  uses  the 
equivalent.  And  now  that  I  am  on  the  tariff  for  squaws, — 
dry  goods  buy  them  in  Siwashdom  as  sometimes  in  Christ- 
endom. The  conventional  price  is  expressed  in  blankets. 
Blankets  paid  to  papa,  buy:  five,  a  cheap  and  unclean  arti- 
cle, a  drudge;  ten,  a  tolerable  article,  a  cook  and  basket- 
maker;  twenty,  a  fine  article  of  squaw,  learned  in  the  kamas- 
beds,  and  with  skull  flat  as  a  shingle;  fifty,  a  very  superior 
article,  ruddy  with  vermilion  and  skilled  in  embroidering 
buckskin  with  porcupine-quills;  and  one  hundred  blankets, 
a  princess,  with  the  beauty  and  accomplishments  of  her 
rank.  Mothers  in  civilization  will  be  pleased  to  compare 
these  with  their  current  rates. 

Skloo's  prairie  and  the  region  thereabouts  merits  tenants 
more  numerous  than  stray  bands  of  mustangs.    Succulent 

*This  price,  however,  was  subject,  for  cause,  to  heavy  discount. 
See  Captain  Bonneville's  account  of  the  Shoshone  brave,  one  of  whose 
wives  eloped  with  a  trapper.  Pursued  by  the  bloodthirsty  husband, 
the  fugitives  were  found  in  a  camp  of  white  traders,  where  brief  parley 
led  to  a  transfer  of  title,  the  trapper  paying  two  horses  for  a  quitclaim, 
and  the  bereft  Shoshone  consoling  himself  for  the  loss  of  his  frail  spouse 
with  the  thrifty  reflection  that  "two  good  horses  were  very  good  pay  for 
one  bad  wife." — Irving:   Bonneville's  Adventures,  Ch.  XLVII. 

In  the  Himes  family,  who  were  part  of  the  migration  of  1853  over 
Naches  Pass,  was  a  baby  girl,  nine  months  old,  who  had  red  hair.  "When 
the  wagon  train  camped  half  way  down  the  western  slope  of  the  Blue 
Mountains,  it  was  visited  by  Pu-Pu-Mox-Mox,  the  great  Walla  Walla 
chief,  richest  of  Northwestern  Indians.  Seeing  this  infant,  he  deter- 
mined to  buy  her.  The  next  morning,  the  Himes  wagon  was  surrounded 
with  hundreds  of  horses,  and  the  Indian  Croesus  was  dumb-founded  to 
learn  that  his  wealth  was  powerless  to  purchase  one  small,  red  headed 


bunch-grass  grows  there  in  plenty  for  legions  of  graminiv- 
ora  to  fatten  on,  as  they  take  gentle,  wholesome  exercise 
over  the  hillocks.  It  was  by  far  the  most  propitious  country 
I  had  seen  this  side  the  mountains. 

At  present,  exercise,  and  not  grazing,  was  the  business 
of  my  cattle.  We  must  hold  to  our  unflagging  march  for  a 
few  hours  more.  But  prostration  after  my  night  watch, 
and  straining  of  mind  and  body  for  many  days,  was  over- 
coming me.  I  was  still  wet,  cold,  and  weary,  hardly  ca- 
pable of  observation,  the  most  instinctive  of  healthy  human 
faculties.  It  was  now  eleven  o'clock  of  the  thirty-first  of 
August.  The  sky  began  to  clear  with  tumultuous  power. 
Massive  black  battalions  of  cloud  came  rushing  by  from  the 
reserves  of  storm  that  still  were  encamped  upon  the  moun- 
tain strongholds  westward.  Every  gloomy  cloud  trailed 
a  blast,  chilling  as  Sarsar,  the  icy  wind  of  death.  Between 
these  moments  of  torture,  the  sun  of  August  came  forth 
through  vistas  of  blinding  white  vapor,  and  fevered  me. 
I  grew  suddenly  sick  with  a  despair  like  death.  Fudnun  was 
descending  a  slope  some  distance  before  me,  driving  An- 
tipodes laboriously  along.  I  essayed  to  shout  to  him,  but 
my  voice  choked  with  a  sneering,  fiendish  rattle,  as  if  con- 
tempt of  my  soul  at  its  mean  jailer,  my  poor  failing,  dying 
body.  I  clutched  vainly  at  the  coil  of  my  lariat  by  my 
saddle  horn,  and  fell  senseless. 

I  slept  through  a  brief  death  to  a  blissful  resurrection. 
Awaking  slowly,  I  doubted  at  first  whether  I  were  not  now 
released  from  earthly  trammels,  for  tireless  toil  in  a  life 
immortal.  First,  I  perceived  that  I  was  conscious;  there- 
fore I  still  was  in  being.  Quickly  the  tremulous  blood, 
in  every  fibre  and  cell,  told  me  that  I  was  still  an  organized 
being,  possessed  of  m.embers  like  those  old  familiar  ones, 
my  agents  in  winning  undying  thoughts.  Next,  my  eyes 
unclosed,  and  I  saw  the  fair  sky.  With  my  senses  new-born, 
my  first  discovery  of  external  facts  was  the  illimitable 
heaven,  bright  with  evanescent  wreaths  of  clouds,  white  and 


virginal.  Whether,  then,  this  were  a  new  world  where  I 
had  awakened,  or  the  world  of  my  ancient  tenancy,  I  knew 
that  the  well-known  laws  of  beauty  reigned,  and  I  need  not 
here  apostatize  from  old  loves  and  old  faiths.  Life  went 
on  slowly  reviving,  drawing  vigor  from  the  air,  and  action, 
the  token  of  life,  became  a  necessity.  I  stirred  feebly,  like 
a  child.  The  rustle  of  my  first  movement  called  out  a 
sympathetic  stir.  Another  organization  in  the  outer  world 
took  note  of  me.  I  felt  a  warm  puff  upon  my  cheek,  and 
the  nose  of  Klale  the  Trusty  bent  over  me  inquisitively. 

The  situation  was  now  systematically  explained.  I 
was  my  old  self,  on  the  old  earth;  wholly  satisfactory, 
whether  desirable  or  not.  Let  us  at  least  know  where  we 
stand, —  what  are  our  facts;  then,  if  there  is  anything  to  be 
done  with  ourselves,  or  made  of  our  facts,  we  can  make 
the  attempt. 

Something  toward  self -restoration  may  be  done  even  by 
a  passive,  supine  weakling,  lying  among  bunch-grass,  on 
a  solitary  prairie,  leagues  away  from  a  house, —  an  unprom- 
ising set  of  circumstances.  I  was  at  present  a  very  valueless 
worldling.  But  the  world  that  takes  us  and  mars  us  has  also 
to  make  us  again.  Unless  our  breakage  is  voluntary,  de- 
termined, and  habitual,  we  shall  mend.  Not  behind  cor- 
pulent bottles,  purple,  crimson,  and  blue,  in  a  shop  where 
there  is  a  putty-faced  youth  with  a  pestle  and  a  redolence 
of  rhubarb,  are  kept  the  great  agents  of  Nature, —  our 
mother,  father, —  who  as  mother  gives  us  life,  and  as  father 
warns,  flogs,  cures,  and  guides  us  with  severe  tenderness. 
Air,  light,  and  water  are  the  trinity  of  simple  remedies,  not 
sold  in  the  shops,  for  making  a  marred  man  new  and  whole 
again.  These  three  medicines  were  liberally  provided  near 
my  fainting-fit  on  the  prairie. 

The  first  thing  I  had  to  do,  to  be  changed  from  a  limp 
object  to  a  robust  man,  was  only  passive  action.  I  was  to 
breathe  and  to  bask.  And  when  I  had  sufficiently  suffered 
the  influence  of  air  and  light.  Nature's  next  potent  remedy 


was  awaiting  me.  I  heard  the  welcome  trickle  of  water 
near  at  hand, —  delicious,  winsome  sound,  hardly  less  artic- 
ulate than  the  tones  of  a  beloved  voice  calling  me  to  a 
presence  that  should  be  refreshment  and  full  renovation. 
I  could  not  walk,  but  I  dragged  myself  along  toward  the 
source  of  sound,  Klale  following,  an  uncontrolled  friend. 

Sweet  water-music  guided  me  to  a  neighbor  rivulet. 
It  came  singing  along  the  bosomy  swells  of  prairie,  fondling 
its  long,  graceful  fringes  of  grass,  curving  and  returning, 
that  it  might  not  lose,  with  too  much  urgency,  the  self- 
possessed  delight  of  motion  along  the  elastic  softness  of 
its  cushioned  bed.  If  there  were  anywhere  above  in  this 
brook's  career  turmoil  and  turbulence,  it  suffered  no  worse 
consequence  than  that  it  must  carry  along  a  reminiscence  of 
riot,  quickly  soothed,  in  files  of  bright  bubbles,  with  their 
skulls  fuller  than  they  could  bear  of  microscopic  images 
of  all  the  outer  world.  Each  bubble  was  so  crowded  with 
reflections  from  the  zenith,  that  it  must  share  its  bursting 
sympathy,  and  marry  with  every  bubble  it  overtook  and 
touched,  until  it  became  so  full  of  fantasies  that  it  must 
merrily  explode  and  be  resolved  into  a  drop  and  a  sun- 

The  countless  charm  of  water,  so  sweetly  shining  forth 
its  quality  of  refreshment,  revived  me  even  before  I  could 
stoop  and  taste.  I  sank  and  lapped.  I  bathed  away  the 
fever  from  my  brow,  and  let  the  warm,  healthy  sunshine 
cherish  me. 

In  eldest  days,  had  I  drooped  by  a  Hippocrene  like  this, 
a  nymph  had  surely  emerged  from  among  the  ripples  and 
laid  her  cooling  hand  upon  me  gently,  giving  me  for  all 
my  mortal  days  a  guardian  vision  of  immortality.  In 
younger  time,  then,  had  I  perchance  been  blessed  with 
healing  at  the  hands  of  some  maiden  leech,  a  Una,  unerringly 
errant  hither  upon  a  milk-white  palfrey,  hither  where  a 
knight  was  sore  bestead.  Now,  Nature  nursed  me,  and  I 
grew  strong  again. 


But  let  US  bethink  ourselves,  Klale,  "my  trusty  fr^re." 
We  were  five;  we  are  two.  Where  are  the  three  ?  Where 
is  Fudnun,  the  Incorruptible,  the  Pathfinder,  the  Merry? 
Where  Antipodes?    Where  Gubbins? 

Where?  Here!  Here,  pelting  down  the  slope,  over- 
joyed, comes  Fudnun,  with  whinnying  nags.  He  had  ad- 
vanced sleepily,  giving  his  whole  mind  to  driving  Antipodes, 
until  that  reluctant  steed,  pretending  to  grow  unhappy 
that  Klale  and  I  were  missing,  bolted  to  the  rear;  where- 
upon Fudnun  perceived  my  absence,  and  turned  to  recover 
me,  dead  or  alive. 

"Nika  kulapi;  I  wheel  about,"  said  he,  "halo  nanitch; 
see  naught.  Cultus  nika  tum  tum;  feeble  grows  my  heart. 
Pose  mika  memloose;  perhaps  you  dead.  Nika  mamook 
stick  copa  k'Gubns;  I  ply  stick  on  Gubbins," — and  he 
continued  to  describe  how  he  had  found  the  spot  of  my  fall, 
and  my  gun  lying  there,  and  had  followed  my  trail  through 
the  long  grass.  Not,  I  am  sure,  with  hopes  of  my  scalp 
and  my  plunder  without  a  battle.  Fudnun  was  honest, 
and,  finding  me  safe,  he  relieved  himself  by  uproarious 

There  is  magnetism  in  society,  even  a  Fudnun's.  Strength 
came  quicker  to  my  flaccid  tissues.  I  thought  of  my  jour- 
ney's end,  not  far  off,  and  toiled  up  that  dread  ascent  into 
my  saddle.  Klale  trudged  along  and  soon  perceiving 
that  I  swayed  about  no  more,  and,  instead  of  clinging  with 
both  hands  to  my  saddle,  sat  upright  and  held  the  bridle, 
he  paced  gradually  into  his  cradling  lope. 

By  the  hearty  aid  of  noon,  the  Cascades  put  their  shoul- 
ders to  the  clouds,  lifted  them  and  cut  them  to  pieces  with 
their  peaks,  so  that  the  wind  could  come  in,  like  a  charge 
of  cavalry,  and  annihilate  the  broken  phalanxes.  Mount 
Adams,  Tacoma  the  Less,  was  the  first  object  to  cleave 
the  darkness.  I  looked  westward,  and  saw  a  sunlit  mass  of 
white,  high  up  among  the  black  clouds,  and  baseless  but 
for  them.    It  would  have  seemed  itself  a  cloud,  but,  while 


the  dark  volumes  were  heaving  and  shifting  about  it,  this 
was  permanent.  While  I  looked,  the  mountain  and  the 
sun  became  evident  victors;  the  glooms  fell  away,  were 
scattered  and  scourged  into  nothingness,  and  the  snow-peak 
stood  forth  majestic,  the  sole  arbiter  of  this  realm.  The 
yellow  prairies  rolled  up  where  the  piny  Cascades,  dwarfed 
by  distance,  were  a  dark  ridge  upon  the  horizon,  and  the 
overtopping  bulk  of  Tacoma  rose  directly  from  them,  a 
silver  mountain  from  a  golden  sea.  No  tameness  of  thought 
is  possible  here,  even  if  prairie-land  lies  dead  level  for 
leagues,  when  on  its  edge  the  untamed  forces  of  Nature 
have  set  up  these  stately  monuments.  More  than  a  hun- 
dred miles  away  on  the  transcontinental  journey,  more 
than  a  hundred  miles  away  on  the  sea,  these  noble  isolated 
snow-peaks  are  to  a  traveller  memorials  of  the  land  he  has 
left,  or  beacons,  firmer  than  a  pillar  of  cloud,  of  a  land  whither 
he  goes. 

Again  I  thought  of  the  influence  of  this  most  impressive 
scenery  upon  its  future  pupils  among  men.  The  shape 
of  the  world  has  controlled  or  guided  men's  growth;  the 
look  of  the  world  has  hardly  yet  begun  to  have  its  effect 
upon  spiritual  progress.  Multitudes  of  agents  have  always 
been  at  work  to  poison  and  dwarf  poets  and  artists  in  those 
inspiring  regions  of  earth  where  nature  means  they  shall 
grow  as  naturally  as  water-lilies  by  a  lake,  or  palms  above 
the  thicks  of  tropic  woods.  Civilized  mankind  has  never 
yet  had  a  fresh  chance  of  developing  itself  under  grand 
and  stirring  influences  so  large  as  in  the  Northwest. 

"Yah  wah,  enetee,"  said  Fudnun,  pointing  to  a  great 
surging  hill  a  thousand  feet  high,  "mitlite  skookoom  tsuk, 
k'Lumby  tsuk;  there,  across,  is  the  mighty  water,  Columbia 

One  more  charge  up  this  Titanic  bastion,  and  I  could 
fairly  shout,  Victory!  and  Time  beaten  in  the  race  by  a 
length!  Up,  then,  my  squad  of  cavalry.  Clamber  up 
the  grassy  slope,   Klale  the  untiring.     Stumble  forward, 


k'Gubns,  on  thy  last  legs.  Plod  on,  Antipodes,  in  the  de- 
spairing sulks.  If  ye  are  weary,  am  I  not  wearier?  Have 
I  not  died  once  to-day?  Beyond  this  mighty  earthwork 
is  a  waste  and  desolate  valley;  if  I  am  to  perish,  let  me  die 
on  the  edge  of  appropriate,  infernal  scenery,  such  as  I  know 
of  beyond  that  hill.  And  that  great  river,  briefest  of  the 
master  streams  of  earth,  if  it  be  not  Styx  to  us,  shall  be 
Lethe.  Klale,  my  jolly  imp,  k'Gubns,  my  honest  servitor, 
Antipodes,  my  recalcitrant  Caliban,  Lethe  is  at  hand. 
Across  that  current  an  Elysium  awaits  us,  as  good  an 
Elysium  as  the  materials  permit,  and  there  whatever  can 
be  found  of  asphodel  or  horse-fodder  shall  be  your  meed, 
and  ye  shall  repose  until  ye  start  again. 

Such  a  harangue  roused  the  drooping  quadrupeds. 
We  travelled  up  the  steep,  right  in  the  teeth  of  hot  blasts, 
baked  in  the  rocky  cells  of  the  valley  beyond,  and  pouring 
over  to  meet  us  like  puffs  from  deadly  batteries  upon  the 
summit.  We  climbed  for  a  laborious  hour,  and  paused  at 
last  upon  the  crest. 

Behind  was  the  vast,  monotonous  plain  of  my  morning's 
march.  Distant  behind  were  the  rude,  difficult  mountains 
I  had  crossed  so  painfully;  and  more  distant  westward 
were  the  main  Cascades,  with  their  snow-peaks  calm  and 
solemnly  radiant.  Of  all  this  I  was  too  desperately  worn 
out  to  take  much  appreciative  notice.  The  scene  before 
me  was  in  closer  sympathy  with  my  mood. 

Before  me  was  a  region  like  the  Valley  of  Death,  rugged, 
bleak,  and  severe.  A  tragical  valley,  where  the  fiery  forces 
of  Nature,  impotent  to  attain  majestic  combination,  and 
build  monuments  of  peace,  had  fallen  into  despairs  and 
ugly  warfare.  A  valley  of  anarchy, —  a  confession  that 
harmony  of  the  elements  was  hopeless  here,  and  that  the 
toil  of  Nature  for  cycles  working  a  world  out  of  chaos, 
had  failed,  and  achieved  only  a  relapse  into  ruin,  drearier 
than  chaos. 

Racked  and  battered  crags  stood  disorderly  over  all 


that  rough  waste.  There  were  no  trees,  nor  any  masses  of 
vegetation  to  soften  the  severities  of  the  landscape.  All 
was  harsh  and  desolate,  even  with  the  rich  sun  of  an  August 
afternoon  doing  what  it  might  to  empurple  the  scathed 
fronts  of  rock,  to  gild  the  ruinous  piles  with  summer  glories, 
and  throw  long  shadows  veiling  dreariness.  I  looked  upon 
the  scene  with  the  eyes  of  a  sick  and  weary  man,  unable  to 
give  that  steady  thought  to  mastering  its  scope  and  detail 
without  which  any  attempt  at  artistic  description  becomes 
vague  generalization. 

My  heart  sank  within  me  as  the  landscape  compelled  me 
to  be  gloomy  like  itself.  It  was  not  the  first  time  I  had 
perused  the  region  under  desolating  auspices.  In  a  log 
barrack  I  could  just  discern  far  beyond  the  river,  I  had 
that  very  summer  suffered  from  a  villain  malady,  the 
small-pox.  And  now,  as  then.  Nature  harmonized  dis- 
cordantly with  my  feelings,  and  even  forced  her  nobler 
aspects  to  grow  sternly  ominous.  Mount  Hood,  full  before 
me  across  the  valley,  became  a  cruel  reminder  of  the  un- 
atainable.  It  was  brilliantly  near,  and  yet  coldly  far  away, 
like  some  mocking  bliss  never  to  be  mine,  though  it  might 
insult  me  forever  by  its  scornful  presence. 

The  Dalles  of  the  Columbia,  upon  which  I  was  now 
looking,  must  be  studied  by  the  Yankee  Dante,  whenever 
he  comes,  for  imagery  to  construct  his  Purgatory,  if  not  his 
Inferno.  At  Walla  Wallah  two  great  rivers,  Clark's  Fork 
and  the  Snake,  drainers  of  the  continent  north  and  south, 
unite  to  form  the  Columbia.  It  flows  furiously  for  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty  miles  westward.  When  it  reaches  the  dreary 
region  I  was  now  studying,  where  the  outlying  ridges  of  the 
Cascade  chain  commence,  it  finds  a  great,  low  surface 
paved  with  enormous  polished  sheets  of  basaltic  rock.  These 
plates,  Gallice  dalles,  give  the  spot  its  name.  Canadian 
voyageurs  in  the  Hudson's  Bay  service  had  a  share  in  the 
nomenclature  of  Oregon.  The  great  river,  a  mile  wide  not 
far  above,  finds  but  a  narrow  rift  in  this  pavement  for  its 


passage.  The  rift  gradually  draws  its  sides  closer,  and  at 
the  spot  now  called  the  Dalles,  subdivides  into  three  mere 
slits  in  the  sharp-edged  rock.  At  the  highest  water  there 
are  other  minor  channels,  but  generally  this  continental 
flood  is  cribbed  and  compressed  within  its  three  chasms 
suddenly  opening  in  the  level  floor,  each  chasm  hardly 
wider  than  a  leap  a  hunted  fiend  might  take. 

In  fact,  the  legend  of  this  infernal  spot  asserts  a  dia- 
bolical origin  for  these  channels  in  the  Dalles.  I  give  this 
weird  and  grotesque  attempt  at  explaining  strange  facts  in 
Nature,  translating  it  into  more  modern  form. 


The  world  has  been  long  cycles  in  educating  itself  to  be 
a  fit  abode  for  men.  Man,  for  his  part,  has  been  long  ages 
in  growing  upward  through  lower  grades  of  being,  to  be- 
come whatever  he  now  may  be.  The  globe  was  once  nebu- 
lous, was  chaotic,  was  anarchic,  and  is  at  last  become 
somewhat  cosmical.  Formerly  rude  and  convulsionary 
forces  were  actively  at  work,  to  compel  chaos  into  anarchy 
and  anarchy  into  order.  The  mighty  ministries  of  the 
elements  warred  with  each  other,  each  subduing  and  each 
subdued.  There  were  earthquakes,  deluges,  primeval 
storms,  and  furious  volcanic  outbursts.  In  this  passionate, 
uncontrolled  period  of  the  world's  history,  man  was  a  fiend, 
a  highly  uncivilized,  cruel,  passionate  fiend. 

The  Northwest  was  then  one  of  the  centers  of  volcanic 
action.  The  craters  of  the  Cascades  were  fire-breathers, 
fountains  of  liquid  flame,  catapults  of  red-hot  stones. 
Day  was  lurid,  night  was  ghastly  with  this  terrible  light. 
Men  exposed  to  such  dread  influences  could  not  be  other 
than  fiends,  as  they  were,  and  they  warred  together  cruelly, 
as  the  elements  were  doing. 

Where  the  great  plains  of  the  Upper  Columbia  now 
spread,  along  the  Umatilla,  in    the    lovely  valley  of  the 


Grande  Ronde,  between  the  walls  of  the  Grande  Coulee, 
was  an  enormous  inland  sea,  filling  the  vast  interior  of  the 
continent,  and  beating  forever  against  a  rampart  of  hills, 
to  the  east  of  the  desolate  plain  of  the  Dalles. 

Every  winter  there  were  convulsions  along  the  Cas- 
cades, and  gushes  of  lava  came  from  each  fiery  Tacoma,  to 
spread  new  desolation  over  desolation,  pouring  out  a  melted 
surface,  which,  as  it  cooled  in  summer,  became  a  fresh 
layer  of  sheeny,  fire-hardened  dalles. 

Now  as  the  fiends  of  that  epoch  and  region  had  giant 
power  to  harm  each  other,  they  must  have  of  course  giant 
weapons  of  defense.  Their  mightiest  weapon  of  offense 
and  defense  was  their  tail;  in  this  they  resembled  the 
iguanodons  and  other  "mud  pythons"  of  that  period,  but 
no  animal  ever  had  such  force  of  tail  as  these  terrible, 
monster  fiend-men  who  warred  together  over  all  the  North- 

As  ages  went  on,  and  the  fires  of  the  Cascades  began  to 
accomplish  their  duty  of  expanding  the  world,  earthquakes 
and  eruptions  diminished  in  virulence.  A  winter  came 
when  there  was  none.  By  and  by  there  was  an  inter- 
val of  two  years,  then  again  of  three  years,  without  rumble 
or  shock,  without  floods  of  fire  or  showers  of  red-hot  stones. 
Earth  seemed  to  be  subsiding  into  an  era  of  peace.  But 
the  fiends  would  not  take  the  hint  to  be  peaceable;  they 
warred  as  furiously  as  ever. 

Stoutest  in  heart  and  tail  of  all  the  hostile  tribes  of 
that  scathed  region  was  a  wise  fiend,  the  Devil.  He  had 
observed  the  cessation  in  convulsions  of  Nature,  and  had 
begun  to  think  out  its  lesson.  It  was  a  custom  of  the  fiends, 
so  soon  as  the  Dalles  plain  became  agreeably  cool  after  an 
eruption,  to  meet  there  every  summer  and  have  a  grand 
tournament  after  their  fashion.  Then  they  feasted  riotously, 
and  fought  again  until  they  were  weary. 

Although  the  eruptions  of  the  Tacomas  had  ceased 
now  for  three  years,  as  each  summer  came  round  this  festi- 


val  was  renewed.  The  Devil  had  absented  himself  from 
the  last  two,  and  when,  on  the  third  summer  after  his  long 
retirement,  he  reappeared  among  his  race  on  the  field  of 
tourney,  he  became  an  object  of  respectful  attention. 
Every  fiend  knew  that  against  his  strength  there  was  no 
defense;  he  could  slay  so  long  as  the  fit  was  on.  Yet  the 
idea  of  combined  resistance  to  so  dread  a  foe  had  never 
hatched  itself  in  any  fiendish  head;  and  besides,  the  Devil, 
though  he  was  feared,  was  not  especially  hated.  He  had 
never  won  the  jealousy  of  his  peers  by  rising  above  them 
in  morality.  So  now  as  he  approached,  with  brave  tail 
vibrating  proudly,  all  admired  and  many  feared  him. 

The  Devil  drew  near,  and  took  the  initiative  in  war 
by  making  a  peace  speech. 

"Princes,  potentates,  and  powers  of  these  infernal 
realms,"  said  he,  "the  eruptions  and  earthquakes  are  ceasing. 
The  elements  are  settling  into  peacefulness.  Can  we  not 
learn  of  them?  Let  us  give  up  war  and  cannibalism,  and 
live  in  milder  fiendishness  and  growing  love." 

Then  went  up  a  howl  from  deviltry.  "He  would  lull 
us  into  crafty  peace,  that  he  may  kill  and  eat  safely.  Death! 
death  to  the  traitor!" 

And  all  the  legions  of  fiends,  acting  with  a  rare  unanimity, 
made  straight  at  their  intended  Reformer. 

The  Devil  pursued  a  Fabian  policy,  and  took  to  his 
heels.  If  he  could  divide  their  forces,  he  could  conquer 
in  detail.  Yet  as  he  ran  his  heart  was  heavy.  He  was 
bitterly  grieved  at  this  great  failure,  his  first  experience 
in  the  difficulties  of  Reform.  He  flagged  sadly  as  he  sped 
over  the  Dalles,  toward  the  defiles  near  the  great  inland 
sea,  whose  roaring  waves  he  could  hear  beating  against 
their  bulwark.  Could  he  but  reach  some  craggy  strait 
among  the  passes,  he  could  take  position  and  defy  attack. 

But  the  foremost  fiends  were  close  upon  him.  Without 
stopping,  he  smote  powerfully  upon  the  rock  with  his  tail. 
The  pavement  yielded  to  that   Titanic    blow.     A  chasm 


opened  and  went  riving  up  the  valley,  piercing  through 
the  bulwark  hills.  Down  rushed  the  waters  of  the  inland 
sea,  churning  boulders  to  dust  along  the  narrow  trough. 

The  main  body  of  the  fiends  shrunk  back  terror-stricken; 
but  a  battalion  of  the  van  sprang  across  and  made  one 
bound  toward  the  heart-sick  and  fainting  Devil.  He  smote 
again  with  his  tail,  and  more  strongly.  Another  vaster 
cleft  went  up  and  down  the  valley,  with  an  earthquaking 
roar,  and  a  vaster  torrent  swept  along. 

Still  the  leading  fiends  were  not  appalled.  They  took 
the  leap  without  craning.  Many  fell  short,  or  were  crowded 
into  the  roaring  gulf,  but  enough  were  left,  and  those  of  the 
chiefest  braves,  to  martjT  their  chase  in  one  instant,  if  they 
overtook  him.  The  Devil  had  just  time  enough  to  tap  once 
more,  and  with  all  the  vigor  of  a  despairing  tail. 

He  was  safe.  A  third  crevice,  twice  the  width  of  the 
second,  split  the  rocks.  This  way  and  that  it  went,  wavering 
like  lightning  eastward  and  westward,  riving  a  deeper 
cleft  in  the  mountains  that  held  back  the  inland  sea,  riving 
a  vaster,  gorge  through  the  majestic  chain  of  the  Cascades, 
and  opening  a  way  for  the  torrent  to  gush  ocean  ward. 
It  was  the  crack  of  doom  for  the  fiends.  A  few  essayed 
the  leap.  They  fell  far  short  of  the  stern  edge,  where  the 
Devil  had  sunk  panting.  They  alighted  on  the  water,  but 
whirlpools  tripped  them  up,  tossed  them,  bowled  them  along 
among  floating  boulders,  until  the  buffeted  wretches  were 
borne  to  the  broader  calms  below,  where  they  sunk.  Mean- 
while, those  who  had  not  dared  the  final  leap  attempted  a 
backward  one,  but  wanting  the  impetus  of  pursuit,  and 
shuddering  at  the  fate  of  their  comrades,  every  one  of  them 
failed  and  fell  short;  and  they  too  were  swept  away,  horribly 
sprawling  in  the  flood. 

As  to  the  fiends  who  had  stopped  at  the  first  crevice, 
they  ran  in  a  body  down  the  river  to  look  for  the  mangled 
remains  of  their  brethren,  and,  the  undermined  bank  giv- 


"Between  me  and  elysium  flows  the  Styx,  gray  and  tur- 
bulent; and  Charon,  where  is  he?  There  are  no  canoes 
on  this  side.  I  fired  shots,  nay,  impatient  volleys,  and 
very  pretty  pop-gun  noise  it  seemed  by  the  loud  river 
in  this  broad,  rough  bit  of  earth.  Are  we  to  repeat 
the  trials  of  Tantalus?  No,  for  I  see  a  figure  stirring 
near  a  log  on  the  beach,^ — the  figure  one  of  the  Frowzy, 
and  the  log  a  canoe.  He  launches,  and  comes  bravely 
paddling  across  the  long  half-mile  of  furious  current. 
*  *  *  A  welcoming  howdy-do  ^aid  I,  and  for  a  fitting 
number  of  oboli  he  agreed  to  ferry  me  and  mine." 

—Chapter  XIII. 


ing  way  under  their  weight,  every  fiend  of  them  was  carried 
away  and  drowned. 

So  perished  the  whole  race  of  fiends. 

As  to  the  Devil,  he  had  learnt  a  still  deeper  lesson.  His 
tail  also,  the  ensign  of  deviltry,  was  irremediably  dislo- 
cated by  his  last  life-saving  blow.  In  fact,  it  had  ceased 
to  be  any  longer  a  needful  weapon!  its  antagonists  were 
all  gone;  never  a  tail  remained  to  be  brandished  at  it, 
in  deadly  encounter. 

So,  after  due  repose,  the  Devil  sprang  lightly  across 
the  chasms  he  had  so  successfully  engineered,  and  went 
home  to  rear  his  family  thoughtfully.  Every  year  he  brought 
his  children  down  to  the  Dalles,  and  told  them  the  terrible 
history  of  his  escape.  The  fires  of  the  Cascades  burned 
away;  the  inland  sea  was  drained,  and  its  bed  became 
fair  prairie,  and  still  the  waters  gushed  along  the  narrow 
crevices  he  had  opened.  He  had,  in  fact,  been  the  instru- 
ment in  changing  a  vast  region  from  a  barren  sea  into 
habitable  land. 

One  great  trial,  however,  remained  with  him,  and  made 
his  life  one  of  grave  responsibility.  All  his  children  born 
before  the  catastrophe  were  cannibal,  stiff-tailed  fiends. 
After  that  great  event,  every  new-born  imp  of  his  was 
like  himself  in  character  and  person,  and  wore  but  a  flaccid 
tail,  the  last  insignium  of  ignobility.  Quarrels  between  these 
two  factions  imbittered  his  days  and  impeded  civilization. 
Still  it  did  advance,  and  long  before  his  death  he  saw  the 
tails  disappear  forever. 

Such  is  the  Legend  of  the  Dalles, —  a  legend  not  with- 
out a  moral. 

So  in  this  summer  afternoon  I  rested  awhile;  looking 
over  the  brown  desolateness  of  the  valley  where  the  Devil 
baffled  the  fiends,  and  then  slowly  and  wearily  I  wound 
along  down  the  enormous  hillside  by  crumbling  paths, 
and  then  between  scarped  cliffs  of  fired  rock  or  shattered 


conglomerate  down  to  the  desert  below.  The  Columbia 
was  still  two  or  three  cruel  miles  away,  but  at  last,  turning 
to  the  right,  away  from  the  pavement  and  channels  of  the 
Dalles,  I  came  to  the  cliffs  over  the  river. 

Over  against  me,  across  the  unfordable  whirls  of  gray 
water,  still  furious  after  its  compression  in  the  rifts  above, 
was  the  outermost  post  of  Occidental  civilization.  My 
countrymen  were  backing  from  the  Pacific  across  the  con- 
tinent, and  to  protect  their  advancing  rear  had  established 
a  small  garrison  here  at  the  Dalles.  There  were  the  old 
log  barracks  on  the  terrace  a  mile  from  the  river.  My 
very  hospital,  where  I  had  suffered,  and  received  the  kind- 
liest care,  and  where  to  my  fevered  dreams  had  come  visions 
of  Indians,  antic,  frantic,  corybantic,  circling  about  me  with 
hatchets  because  I  had  brought  the  deadly  pest  into  their 
tribe,  —  that  log  cabin,  vacated  by  its  occupant,  the  officer 
in  command,  that  I  might  be  well  lodged  through  my  illness, 
was  still  there  among  the  rough,  yellow  pines,  unaltered 
by  one  embrowning  summer.  There  was  the  sutler's  shop 
near  the  shore,  and,  grouped  about  it,  tents  of  the  first- 
comers  of  the  overland  emigration,  each  with  its  gypsy 
supper-fire.  Truly  an  elysium  of  civilization  as  elysian 
as  one  could  desire,  and  Mount  Hood  standing  nobly  in 
the  background,  no  longer  chill  and  unsympathizing.  But 
between  me  and  elysium  flows  the  Styx,  gray  and  turbu- 
lent, and  Charon,  where  is  he?  There  are  no  canoes  on  this 
side.    How  shall  we  cross,  Fudnun,  the  Blanketeer? 

"Kloneas;  dunno.  Pose  mika  mamook  po;  suppose  you 
fire  a  shot,"  said  Fudnun,  "pesiwash  chaco  copa  canim; 
and  Indian  come  with  canoe." 

I  fired  shots,  nay,  impatient  volleys,  and  very  petty 
popgun  noise  it  seemed  by  the  loud  river  in  this  broad, 
rough  bit  of  earth.  No  one  appeared  to  ferry  me.  I  waved 
a  white  blanket.  No  one  heeded.  I  fired  more  shots, 
more  volleys.  It  would  be  farcical,  or  worse,  should  we  be 
forced  to  stay  here  "dum  defluat  amnis,"  to  wait  until  this 

o  e 

5  o 


■"^^  OS'S 





continental  current  run  driblets.  Are  we  to  repeat,  with 
variations,  the  trials  of  Tantalus?  No,  for  I  see  a  figure 
stirring  near  a  log  on  the  beach.  At  this  distance  I  cannot 
distinguish,  but  I  can  fancy  the  figure  to  be  one  of  the 
Frowzy,  and  the  log  a  canoe.  It  is  so.  He  launches,  and 
comes  bravely  paddling  across  the  stream.  We  scuffled 
down  the  craggy  bank  to  meet  him. 

"Howdydo!    Howdydo!"  said  Olyman  Charon,  landing 

Indian  House  of  Slabs,  on  the  Columbia. 

his  canoe,  and  lounging  bow-leggedly  up  to  shake  hands. 
A  welcoming  howdydo,  said  I  in  return,  and  for  a  fitting 
number  of  oboli  he  agreed  to  ferry  me  and  mine  in  two 
detachments.  I  would  cross  first  with  the  traps,  swimming 
Klale;  Fudnun  would  come  afterward  with  k'Gubns  and 
Antipodes.  I  upheld  Klale's  head  in  the  bow  while  Charon 
paddled  and  steered  aft.  The  river  proved  indeed  almost 
a  Styx  to  poor  Klale.  It  was  a  long  half-mile  of  stemming 
a  furious  current,  and  once  or  twice  the  stout-hearted 
little  nag  struggled  as  if  his  death-moment  had  come.    But 


Charon  paddled  lustily,  and  we  safely  touched  the  farther 

It  was  sunset  of  the  last  of  August.  I  had  won  the  day, 
and  not  merely  the  day.  Across  the  tide-ways  of  Whulge, 
the  Squally  prairies,  the  wooded  flanks  and  buttresses  of 
Tacoma,  by  the  Nachchese  canon  and  valley,  from  traitors 
on  Weenas,  from  the  Atinam  mission,  from  the  camp  of 
the  flaring  torch,  across  Skloo's  domains,  and  at  last  over 
the  region  of  the  Devil's  race-course  here  at  the  Dalles; — 
over  all  these  stages  of  my  route  I  had  hastened,  and  my 
speed  was  not  in  vain.  I  had  seen  new  modes  of  savage 
life.  I  had  proved  Indian  treachery  and  Indian  friendship. 
I  knew  the  glory  and  the  shame  of  Klalam  and  Klickatat. 
Among  many  types  of  character  w^re  some  positively 
distinct  and  new  ones;  Dooker  Yawk,  the  drunken;  Owh- 
high,  the  magisterial;  Loolowcan,  the  frowzy;  Shabbiest, 
the  not  ungrateful;  merry  Uplintz,  and  hero-worshipping 
Kpawintz;  Kamaiakan,  the  regal  and  courteous;  Fudnun, 
the  jocund;  —  all  these  had  been  in  some  way  intimately 
associated  with  my  destiny.  I  had  conquered  time  and 
space  by  just  so  little  as  to  feel  a  respect  for  my  antagonists, 
and  some  satisfaction  in  myself  as  victor.  My  allies  in 
the  contest,  my  three  quadrupeds,  had  borne  them  nobly. 
I  had  a  serene  sense  of  new  and  large  experience,  and  of  some 
qualities  in  myself  newly  tested.  Of  all  my  passages  of 
wild  life,  this  was  the  most  varied  and  concentrated.  There 
had  been  much  grandeur  of  nature,  and  vigorous  dramatic 
scenes,  crowded  into  this  brief  journey.  As  a  journey,  it 
was  complete  with  a  fortunate  catastrophe  after  the  rapidity 
of  its  acts,  to  prove  the  plot  well  conceived.  I  had  rehearsed 
my  longer  march,  and  was  ready  to  begin  to  enact  it. 

I  left  Klale  to  shake  himself  free  of  the  waters  of  his 
Lethe,  and  nibble  at  what  he  could  find  of  the  promised 
asphodel,  until  his  comrades  came  over,  and  myself  moved 
about  to  greet  old  friends.    My  two  comrades  of  the  morrow 


were  in  a  tent,  hard  by,  playing  poker  with  Pikes  of  the 
emigration,  and  losing  money  to  the  said  crafty  Pikes.  ♦ 

So,  when  the  morrow  came,  I  mounted  a  fresh  horse, 
and  went  galloping  along  on  my  way  across  the  continent. 
With  my  comrades,  a  pair  of  frank,  hearty,  kindly  roughs, 
I  rode  over  the  dry  plains  of  the  Upper  Columbia,  beyond 
the  sight  of  Mount  Hood  and  Tacoma  the  less,  across  John 
Day's  River  and  the  Umatillah,  day  after  day,  through 
throngs  of  emigrants  with  their  flocks  and  their  herds 
and  their  little  ones  in  great  patriarchal  caravans,  with 
their  white-roofed  wagons  strewed  over  the  surging  prairie 
like  sails  on  a  populous  sea,  moving  away  from  the  tame 
levels  of  Mid-America  to  regions  of  fresher  and  more  dra- 
matic life  on  the  slopes  toward  the  Western  Sea.  I  climbed 
the  Blue  Mountains,  looked  over  the  lovely  valley  of  the 
Grande  Ronde,  wound  through  the  stern  defiles  of  the 
Burnt  River  Mountains,  talked  with  the  great  chiefs  of  the 
Nez  Percys  at  Fort  Boisee,  dodged  treacherous  Bannacks 
along  the  Snake,  bought  salmon,  and  otter-skins  for  finery, 
of  the  Shoshonees  at  the  Salmon  Falls,  shot  antelope,  found 
many  oases  of  refreshing  beauty  along  the  breadth  of  that 
desolate  region,  and  so,  after  much  adventure,  and  at  last 
deadly  sickness,  I  came  to  the  watermelon  patches  of  the 
Great  Salt  Lake  Valley,  and  drew  recovery  thence.  I 
studied  the  Utah  landscape.  Oriental,  simple,  and  severe. 
I  talked  with  Brother  Brigham,  a  man  of  very  considerable 
power,  practical  sense,  and  administrative  ability.  I  chatted 
with  the  buxom  thirteenth  of  a  boss  Mormon,  and  was 
not  proselyted.  And  then,  in  delicious  October,  I  hastened 
on  over  the  South  Pass,  through  the  buffalo,  over  prairies 
on  fire,  quenched  at  night  by  the  first  snows  of  autumn. 
For  two  months  I  rode  with  days  sweet  and  cloudless, 
and  every  night  I  bivouacked  beneath  the  splendors  of 
unclouded  stars. 

And  in  all  that  period  while  I  was  so  near  to  Nature, 

*  See  p.  15  note. 



the  great  lessons  of  the  wilderness  deepened  into  my  heart 
day  by  day,  the  hedges  of  conventionalism  withered  away 
from  my  horizon,  and  all  the  pedantries  of  scholastic  thought 
perished  out  of  my  mind  forever. 


Animal-shaped  Bowl,  or  Mortar,  Carved  in  Lava.     Found  In 
Grave  on  Yakima  Reservation. 



In  reprinting  Winthrop's  Chinook  Vocabulary,  no  attempt  has 
been  made  to  expand  it  into  a  dictionary  of  the  jargon.  Through  the 
courtesy,  however,  of  Dr.  CM.  Buchanan,  of  Tulalip,  several  correc- 
tions and  explanations  are  added  to  Winthrop's  list.  These  and  other 
additions  are  enclosed  in  brackets.  Readers  who  wish  a  fuller  manual 
of  this  curious  lingua  franca  are  referred  to  the  work  of  Dr.  George 
Gibbs  {Dictionary  of  the  Chinook  Jargon,  1863),  and  the  full  and  excellent 
compilations  of  John  Gill  {Gill's  Dictionary  of  the  Chinook  Jargon,  Port- 
land, 1909),  George  C.  Shaw  {The  Chinook  Jargon  and  How  to  Use  It, 
Seattle,  1909)  and  others. 

The  following  extracts  from  a  manuscript  account  by  Dr.  Buchanan 
explain  the  most  important  features  of  what  he  has  called  "the  bar- 
baric Volapuk  of  early  commerce  in  the  Northwest." 

"A  thorough  knowledge  of  a  few  dozen  words  will  give  one  sufficient 
material  with  which,  after  actual  practice,  to  carry  on  ordinary  con- 
versations. In  practice  the  sentences  are  built  up  by  agglutination 
or  association  of  words,  just  as  a  child  builds  houses  and  various  other 
v/onderful  structures  from  its  blocks.  In  so  doing  there  is  always  a 
very  wide  sphere  for  the  exercise  of  ingenuity  on  the  part  of  the  speaker, 
and  upon  this,  in  a  measure,  depends  the  skill  with  which  he  may  handle 
Chinook  and  convey  his  thoughts  therein.  The  jargon  is  essentially  a 
spoken  and  not  a  written  tongue  —  it  is  very  much  alive.  *  *  There 
are  no  hard  and  fast  rules  for  the  spelling  of  words,  and  every  one  in 
writing  Chinook  follows  the  dictates  of  his  own  judgment  in  the  fabri- 
cation of  phonetic  equivalents,  which  are  at  best  only  approximations. 

"A  Chinook  word  is  elastic  and  expresses  a  broad  and  general  idea 
rather  than  one  altogether  specific,  hence  the  extreme  elasticity  of 
the  jargon.  Specific  ideas  must  be  expressed  by  qualifiers  or  modifiers 
added  to  the  word,  as  will  be  readily  seen  in  practice.  Each  word  is  a 
tool  whose  general  uses  and  whose  specific  uses  must  be  so  mastered 
before  successful  work  can  be  done  or  satisfactory  progress  be  made. 

"In  Chinook  the  verb  is  absolutely  inflexible,  and  never  changes 
its  form  for  mood,  tense  or  anything  else;  these  are  always  indicated  by 
the  agglutination  of  a  word  indicating  the  mood,  tense,  etc.  The  idea 
of  tense  is  most  simple  and  rudimentary,  that  is,  past,  present  and  future; 
ahnkutty,   alia,   alki. 

"Intensity  of  meaning  or  duration  of  time  may  be  indicated  by  pro- 
longation of  the  sounding  of  a  word,  thus:  Laly  (time) — la-a-a-aly 
(a  long  time).  This  is  based  upon  an  instinctive  principle  common 
to  all  tongues,  just  as  we  in  English  phonetically  indicate  prolongation 
of  time  or  extension  in  space  or  intensity  of  feeling  by  means  of  the  in- 
tonation.   So  we  say  'a  long  time'  and  'a  lo-o-o-ong  time.'  " 



Aha,  yes. 

Ahti  or  achti  [Ahts],  sister. 

Ala,  I  wonder;  surprise. 

Alki,  future,  by  and  by. 

Alta,  now,  present. 

Ankoti    [Ahn-cutty],    before;    time 

Attle,  to  be  pleased.  [Yutl  or  youtl, 

Aquine  or  Aquatine,  belly. 
Boston  tilicum,  American  [people]. 
Bote,  boat. 

Callapooya,  mean  Indian. 
Canim,  canoe. 
Cansu    [Kon-se   or   kon-sih],    how 

Chaco,  come. 
Chick-chick,  wagon,  etc. 
Chicu  or  che-chu  [Chee],  new,  clean. 
Chickamin,  iron,  etc.    [also  money]. 
Chil-chil,  button. 
Chuck,  water,  river. 
Cli,  to  cry. 
Cloocheman,  woman. 
Closche  nanitch,  look  sharp. 
Cluckamon  [See  Chickamin],  money. 
Cochon,  pig,  pork. 
Copa  mitlite  pire,  to  burn. 
Copa  nika  mitlite,  it  belongs  to  me. 
Cop-su-wallah        [Kop-shwal-lah], 

Couway  (courez)  cooly  [Coley],  run. 
Cultus  hee-hee,  dance. 
Cultus,    common,    inferior   [worth- 
less, useless]. 
Cultus  tee-hee,  play. 
Cum-tux,  understand,  hear. 
Dah-blo   or   derb,   devil   [also   "le 

job,"  the  devil]. 
Ding-ding,  hotir. 
Dlie,  dry. 

Drait  [de-late],  straight. 
Eh-ee,  uncle. 
Elita,  slave. 

Enetee  [In-ah-tie],  across. 
Esik  [Is-sik],  paddle. 
Essil,  corn. 

Gleese,  gleach,  grease,  oil,  tar,  etc. 
Gleese-stick,  candle. 
Halo,  none,  nothing. 
Haloa  mah   [Hul-loi-mah]  another 

Hankachim,  handkerchief. 
Haul,  pull. 

Haus  [House],  sail,  tent. 

Ho,  let;  an  interjection. 

Hoel,  mouse. 

Hooe-hoo,  swop,  sell. 

Hooihut    [Oy-hut],   road. 

Hui    [Hyu],    much,   many. 

Hui-haus  [Hyu-house],  town. 

Hyack,  quick,  make  haste. 

Hyas,  very  greatly. 

Ichfat  [Itshoot],  bear,  animal. 

Ikta,  what  things. 

lUahee,  earth,  dust,  floor,  etc. 

Hip  or  eelip,  the  first. 

Inati,  over,  across,  outside. 

Ipsuit,  find  [Ip-soot,  to  hide,  conceal]. 

Iscum,  take,  bring. 

Ittle-whilly,  flesh. 

Ituel,  victuals. 

Kah,  where. 

Kah   mika   chaco,   where   do   you 

come  from? 
Kah    mika    klatawah,    where    are 

you  going? 
Kahquah  or  kapwah,  alike,  like. 
Kah  ta  mika  wah-wah,  what  did 

you  say? 
Kaloock,  swan. 
Kaliaton,  lead;    k.  hyas,  balls;  k. 

tenas,  shot. 
Kamooks  [Comox,  cow-mux],  dog; 

mean,  poor  fellow. 
Kanoway  [Konaway],  all. 
Ka-puet,  needle. 
Kappo,  coal. 

Kap-sualla  [Kop-shwal-lah],   steal. 
Karabine  [Cal-a-peen],  rifle. 
Kata   [Kah-tah],   why. 
Katock,  year. 
Kaw-kaw,  crow,  raven. 
Kaw-heloo,  goose. 
Kaw-wash   [Kwahss],   afraid. 
Kee-a-wali,  love. 
Kee-la-pi,  turn  over  [Keelapie  tum- 

tum,  to  change  one's  mind]. 
Keelapy,  come  back,  return. 
Kiasee  or  'sie  [Kon-see,  kon-sih], 

how   many,   much. 
Kicemali  [Kee-kwil-lee],  down  be- 
Kicuali   tyee   [Kee-kwil-lee   tyee], 

Kimtah,  back. 

Kinny-ki-nick,  smoking-weed. 
Kinoose,  tobacco. 



Kitlo,  kettling,  kettle. 

Klatawah,  go,  walk. 

Klale,  black. 

Klahyam,  klah-hye-am  (Klah-how- 

yah],   good   bye. 
Klahya,  klah-hyg-gah  [Klah-how- 

yah],   how   d'ye   do. 
Klahana  [Klah-hah-nee],  out. 
Klaska,  them,  those. 
Klaxta,  who. 
Klimmin,  little,  soft. 
Klipsc,  upset. 

Kliminwhit,  klimink-whit,  lie. 
Kloneas   [Kloh-nass],   don't  know; 

may  be. 
Kllosche,  good. 
Klowawah,  slow. 
Knitan   [Ku-ih-tan],  horse. 
Knitan-house     [Kuihitan     house], 

Ko,  stop;  arrived. 
Kock-sheet  [Kok-shit],  break,  strike 

kill,  etc. 
Kock-sheet-stick,  war-club. 
KoU,  cold. 

Kollo  [Klah-hud],  fence. 
KoUaps,  or  k'laps  [Klap],  find. 
Komsock,  beads. 
Konamoxt,    both    [Konaway,    all; 

mox,   two;  konamux,   both]. 
Kopa,  with,  by. 
Kopet,  enough,  done;  stop,  let  me 

Kotsuck,  middle. 
Kowee,  tie  in,  tie  up. 
Kullu  or  kuUa,  kullie,  bird  of  any  kind 
Kum-tux,  know,  understand. 
Kutl  or  kul-kul  [Kull],  hard. 
Kwanasim,  always  [Konaway,  all; 

sun,  day;  kwannisum,  all  days 

or  always]. 
La  bouche,  mouth. 
La  coope,  te-cope,  white. 
La  crame,  yellow. 
La  hache,  axe. 
La  lame,  oar. 
La  vest,  jacket. 
Le  bya  (la  vielle?),  old  woman. 
Le  cassette,  trunk. 
Le  cou,  neck. 
Le  dents,  teeth. 
Le  langue,  tongue. 
Le  loim,  sharp. 
Le  molass,  mA}lasse9. 

Le  mouton  [Le  mooto],  sheep. 

Le   main   [Le   mah],   hand. 

Le  pied,  foot. 

Le  pipe,  pipe. 

Le  plush   [Le  Plash],  boards. 

Le  polo,  pan. 

Le  pomme,  apple. 

Le  pois,  peas. 

Le  poshut,  fork. 

Le  porte,  door. 

Le  poule,  fowl. 

Le  nez,  nose. 

Le  selle,  saddle. 

Le  shabree,  plough. 

Le  t§te,  head. 

Lip-lip,  boil. 

Lolo,  carry. 

Lope,  rope. 

Lum,  spirit  of  any  sort. 

Mahcook,  buy 

Mamook,  work,  do. 

Man,  man. 

Masatche,   bad  [Vile,  dirty,  evil]. 

Masatche  man,  enemy  [vile  man]. 

Memloose  [May-muh-loos],  die, 
dead,  destroy. 

Mesika,  ye  or  you  [you,  your,  yours. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  case 
in  Chinook,  therefore  one  form 
represents  at  once  the  nomi- 
native, possessive  and  objective]. 

Mika,  you. 

Mitlite,  leave,  stop;  place,  set  down. 

Mit-mit-stick,  mast  or  tree. 

Moon,  month. 

Moos-moos,  beef,  cattle. 

Moosum,  sleep. 

Mowitch,  deer. 

Muck-a-muck,  eat,  drink,  food. 

Musket,  gun. 

Musket-stone,  flint. 

Musket  tenas,  pistol. 

Na-wit-kah,  yes,  indeed. 

Nanitch,  see. 

Neim  [Nem],  name. 

Nesika,  we,  us. 

Nika,  /. 

Nika  attle  copa  mika,  /  am  pleased 
with  you.     [See  "attle,"  supra]. 

Nika  sia,     my  love. 

Nik-wah,  here  to  me. 

Oapcan,   basket. 

Ocook,  this,  that. 

Oelk,  snake. 



Oelhin,  seal. 

Olilly  or  olalely,  berry. 

Olo,  hungry. 

Olyman  saolrocks,  second-hand,  old 
clothes  ["Old  man"  or  "ole  man," 
worn  out  or  worthless]. 

Opitchure  [Opitsah],  knife. 

Opotche   [Opoots],    back   [vulgar]. 

Oree,  brother. 

Pasaiooks,  French,  foreigners. 

Pat-le  [Pahtl],  full. 

Pe,  and,  but. 

Pechi,  green. 

Pel   [Pil],   red  [Pil-pil,   blood]. 

Pesispy  [Pah-ses-sy],  blanket. 

Pesispy  sail,   woollen  cloth. 

Peshooks,  thickets. 

Petick  (?),  world. 

Pil-pil,  blood. 

Piltin,  fool,  foolish. 

Pire,  fire. 

Pire-gleese,  tallow. 

Pire-ship,  steamer. 

Pire-stone,  flint. 

Poo,  plook,  shoot. 

Polikely  [Poh-luk-ly],  night. 

Pose,  if,  suppose  [Spose,  used  for 
any  expression  of  condition]. 

Pusse  [Pish-pish],  cat. 

Quak-quak,  duck. 

Quallon,  ear  [Kwoh-lahd-dy,  In- 
dian word  more  commonly  used]. 

Quanisam,  always. 

Sah-hah-lee,  high  up,  heaven. 

Sah-hah-lee-tyee,  God. 

Sail,  cotton  cloth,  etc. 

Samon,  fish. 

Sapolel,  wheat. 

See-ah-hoos,  face  or  eyes. 

See-ah-pal,  hat,  cap. 

ShecoUon,  pantaloons. 

Shixe,  friend 

Sitcum,  half. 

Siwash     [Corrupted  ^^Sauvage"], 

Sly  ah,  pay  off. 

Skookum,  strong,  stout;  ghost. 

Skookum  man,  warrior. 

Snas,  rain. 

Sonture  (ceinture),  sash. 

Stogeon,  sturgeon. 

Talipus,  wolf. 

Tamala,  to-morrow. 

Tamanoiis,  guardian  spirit. 

Tamoluck,  barrel. 

Tatoosh,  milk,  cheese,  butter  [Ta- 

toosh,  breast  or  mammary  gland]. 
Tee-ah-nute,  leg. 
Tee-coop  or  t'kope  (cope),  white. 
Tee-hee  or  hee-hee,  laugh. 
Tenas,  infant;  t.  cloocheman,  girl; 

t.  man,  boy;  t.  le  porte,  window. 
Tikky,  want,  wish. 
Tilicum,  people. 
Till-till,  tired,  heavy. 
Tin-tin,  bell,  watch. 
Tipsoo,  grass,  feathers,  hair,  beard, 

wool,  etc. 
Tipu,  ornament. 
Tissum,  pretty. 
Tit-the-co-ep,  cut. 
T'kope  (cope)  tilicum,  white  man. 
Tocta,  doctor. 
Tolo,  win. 
Tumpelo,  back. 
Tum-tum,  heart. 
Tyee,  chief,  master,  etc. 
Utescut,  short. 
Uttecut,  long. 
Wah-wah,  talk. 
Wake,  no,  not. 
Wapato,  potato. 
Weltch,     more. 
Yack-wah,  this  way  [or  here]. 
Yah-hal,  name. 
Yah-wah,  yonder. 
Yaka,  him,  she,  it. 

All  words  in  Chinook  are  very  much  aspirated,  gutturalized,  sput- 
tered, and  swallowed. 





fit       Prt  fibred 








Theodore  Winthrop's  letters  from  the  Pacific  Coast  cover  the  period 
between  his  departure  from  Panama,  in  March,  1853,  and  his  arrival 
at  old  Fort  Dalles,  Oregon,  homeward  bound,  on  August  31,  following. 
With  the  exception  of  his  weeks  of  illness  at  The  Dalles,  on  his  first 
visit  there  in  the  spring,  and  of  his  month's  stay  at  Victoria  and  Belling- 
ham  Bay,  with  the  forced  march  that  took  him  so  swiftly  across  the  new 
Territory  in  the  last  days  of  the  short  northern  summer,  this  correspond- 
ence accounts  in  detail  for  his  half-year  on  the  coast. 

The  letters  were  addressed  to  members  of  his  family.  Written  for 
their  friendly  eyes,  and  without  thought  of  publication,  they  are 
devoid  of  all  effort  at  style  or  effect;  nevertheless,  they  contain  many 
charming  notes  of  travel,  and  some  vivid  snap-shot  pictures  of  Western 
life  and  scenes.  They  are  such  letters,  indeed,  as  a  young  man  of  quick 
intelligence,  wide  reading  and  extended  travel  would  naturally  write 
to  the  beloved  widowed  mother  and  her  children  at  home,  anxious  to 
know  what  might  befall  that  roving,  inquisitive,  and  semi-invalid  son 
and  brother,  three  thousand  miles  away  in  the  newest  West. 

Duphcating  these  letters  in  many  particulars,  Winthrop's  journals 
also  add  much  that  the  letters  omit.  They  thus  aid  us  materially  in 
piecing  out  the  story  of  his  summer  west  of  the  Rockies.  From  both 
sources,  the  letters  and  the  journals,  we  get  many  side-lights  on  the 
incidents  narrated  in  "The  Canoe  and  the  Saddle."  Many  paragraphs 
in  the  book  were  evidently  developed  from  the  hasty  notes  of  the  diary 
and  the  more  careful  narrative  of  the  letters. 


In  "The  Life  and  Poems  of  Theodore  Winthrop,  edited  by  his 
sister,"  1884,  there  was  published  a  somewhat  condensed  transcrip- 
tion of  the  letters.  In  reprinting  them  here,  I  have  added  a  num- 
ber of  passages  and,  indeed,  several  brief  letters  that  were  omitted  from 
that  very  enjoyable  volume.  My  aim  has  been  to  retain  everything 
that  has  more  than  a  private  interest.  The  first  letter  was  written  on 
shipboard,  en  route  from  Panama  to  San  Francisco: 

"Near  Acapulco,  March  14,  1853. 

"My  dear  Mother: — Nearly  half  way  to  cool  weather 
again,  and  looking  forward  to  the  enjoyment  of  warm 
clothes  and  a  fast  walk.  Panama,  whence  I  sailed  on  the 
8th,  is  fading  in  recollection,  and  my  existence  apart  there 
becoming  like  a  dream.  Yet  it  was  difficult  to  tear  my- 
self away.  I  shall  long  remember  the  Cathedral  Plaza  and 
the  life  around  it.  I  find  it  still  a  question  whether  I  shall 
ever  have  any  energy  again.  As  I  am  seeking  my  fortune, 
I  must  not  allow  apprehensions;  but  my  heart  sinks  when  I 
think  how  little  my  infirm  health  fits  me  to  join  battle  with 
giants  such  as  I  see  around  me. 

"Our  voyage  thus  far  has  been  agreeable.  I  had  al- 
ready known  the  officers  of  the  ship,  and  have  found  them 
pleasant  company.  We  have  few  passengers,  generally 
uninteresting.  The  Ocean  has  been  strictly  Pacific,  hardly 
broken  by  a  ripple.  We  have  sailed  along  with  a  remorse- 
less glare  of  sunlight.  I  have  felt  the  heat  more  on  this 
trip  than  any  time  at  Panama.  First,  we  sailed  close  along 
a  rather  bold,  hilly  shore,  thickly  wooded  and  completely 
solitary.  At  the  gulf  of  Nicoya,  we  gradually  left  the  land 
bluer  and  fainter  in  the  distance  until  we  lost  it  entirely, 
striking  across  the  Bay  of  Tehuantepec.  We  are  now  in 
sight  of  the  distant  Mexican  coast,  and  to-night  shall  be 
in  Acapulco.  The  ship  behaves  admirably,  steadily  making 
from  220  to  240  miles  a  day. 

"No  events;  a  few  flying  fish  skipping  out  of  the  water 
and  a  couple  of  water-spouts  stretching  down  slender  arms 
of  cloud  into  the  sea,  like  bent  sherry  cobbler  tubes,  have 


hardly  varied  the  monotony  of  our  tropical  sailing.  The 
water  is  beautifully  blue,  and  the  horizon  cloudless;  the 
nights  are  fine,  with  a  young  moon. 

"I  feel  very  far  from  home,  and  have  no  idea 
what  I  am  going  to  do  in  San  Francisco.  I  shall  try,  be- 
fore I  am  finally  settled  in  anything,  to  run  about  the  coun- 
try a  little,  and  work  off  Panama.  As  we  approach  Aca- 
pulco,  sailing  straight  down  a  broad  path  of  moonlight, 
fires  of  burning  brush  appear  all  along  the  shore.  At  mid- 
night we  plunged  into  the  land,  and  all  at  once,  a  way  open- 
ing, found  ourselves  in  a  smooth  lake  surrounded  by  hills 
with  no  apparent  exit — the  harbor  of  Acapulco.  We  lay 
between  the  coal  hulks  until  morning.  Then  I  went  ashore. 
The  town  is  surrounded  by  hills,  high,  barren  and  burnt, 
looking  as  if  recent  volcanic  fires  had  passed  over  them. 
With  many  cracked  and  ruined  houses,  it  shows  traces  of 
the  late  earthquakes.  Everything  is  parched.  The  houses 
are  all  of  one  story, — huts  rather  than  houses;  and  the  peo- 
ple live  lazily  in  the  shade  of  the  corridors  that  surround 
them.  The  square  is  covered  with  booths  for  selling  fruit 
and  liquors.  I  close,  as  the  steamier  will  soon  be  off,  and 
hope  to  write  soon  and  in  good  health  at  San  Francisco." 

"San  Francisco,  Cal.,  March  27,  1853. 
"My  dear  Mother:  — I  arrived  here  on  Thursday  even- 
ing, March  24th.  We  had  fine  weather  and  a  fine  coast 
from  Acapulco  until  we  crossed  the  Gulf  of  California. 
At  San  Diego  we  saw  American  California;  shores  like 
downs,  bare  of  all  except  scanty  herbage  and  grass,  with 
higher  hills  in  the  distance  sprinkled  occasionally  with 
snow.  The  change  to  really  cold  weather,  thermometer 
45*^,  was  severe  but  refreshing,  and  I  felt  new  life  when  I 
could  button  together  what  the  moths  of  Panama  had  left 
of  my  thick  coat,  and  walk  rapidly  about  the  deck.  The 
shore  was  bare  and  uninteresting.  San  Diego  is  in  three 
parts, —  a  desolate  harbor  with  a  few  sheds  and  three  coal 


hulks;  an  old  town  six  miles  from  the  beach,  and  a  new  town 
containing  the  barracks.  The  harbor  is  land  locked.  Ap- 
proaching Monterey,  the  coast  became  apparently  more 
fertile ;  there  were  some  trees  and  more  verdure;  the  hills, 
too,  were  higher  and  finer,  and  the  rocky  points  brilUant 
with  surf.  Monterey  is  prettily  situated  in  a  beautiful 
sweep  of  bay,  wooded  with  pines;  a  green  and  smiling  coun- 
try surroimds  it,  a  good  deal  cultivated,  and  with  all  the 
freshness  of  spring.  But  the  general  appearance  of  the 
coast  is  hardly  inviting;  its  fertility  and  beauty  are  said  to 
be  behind  the  Coast  Range. 

"About  1  p.  m.,  on  the  24th,  we  began  to  see  the  'Heads' 
at  the  entrance  of  San  Francisco  Bay.  After  a  gale  the 
night  before,  the  day  was  splendidly  clear  of  the  fogs  that 
usually  beset  the  coast  and  have  recently  caused  the  loss 
of  our  Tennessee.  A  large  number  of  ships  were  beating 
in  and  out,  and  a  Yankee  pilot  boat  hailed  us.  The  en- 
trance is  worthy  of  the  noble  bay.  The  south  shore  is 
barren  and  sand-hilly,  but  having  a  wild,  seashore  look; 
on  the  north  the  cliffs  come  precipitately  down  into  the 
water.  The  narrow  entrance  is  somewhat  beset  with  rocks, 
which  are  covered  with  birds  and  basking  seals.  After 
the  first  set  of  points,  the  coast  trends  inward  to  another 
set,  the  real  Golden  Gate,  equally  bold  and  fine,  and  about 
as  wide  as  the  Narrows.  *  This  continues  perhaps  two  miles, 
when  you  discern  the  shipping  and  the  town  creeping  round 
the  point,  and  the  whole  breadth  of  the  lake-like  bay  opens 
grandly  before  you.  The  effect  is  simple  in  its  elements, — 
an  expanse  of  calm  water  bounded  by  sharply  defined  hills. 
From  their  summits  you  have  striking  panoramic  views 
across  the  bay  and  down  upon  the  wonderful  town,  which  is 
a  realization  in  rapidity  of  growth,  if  not  in  splendor,  of 
our  fairy  tales. 

"On  approaching,  we  found  all  the  'paraphernalia  of 
civilization ;'  we  were  boarded  by  news  boats ;  our  arrival 
*Below  New  York  Harbor. 


was  announced  by  a  succession  of  telegraphs.  Firing  our 
gun  and  rounding  the  point,  I  was  astonished  to  find  an 
array  of  shipping  apparently  as  great  as  that  in  New  York. 
Fine  ships  were  lying  out  in  the  stream,  and  blocking  the 
crowded  wharves.  Back  of  them  stretched  an  extent  of 
city  seeming  interminable,  and  exaggerated  by  the  evening 
mist  and  smoke.  The  wharf  and  steamers  alongside  were 
filled  with  people  awaiting  our  arrival,  and  there  was  far 
more  bustle  and  noise  and  throng  than  ever  on  a  similar 
occasion  at  home. 

"The  activity  here  is  appalling.  The  original  town  was, 
as  you  know,  built  upon  a  narrow,  crescent-shaped  bit  of 
ground  backed  by  steep  hills.  As  it  extended,  the  hills 
were  cut  away,  and  the  water  filled  up,  until  an  office  which 
was  at  the  waterside  is  now  half  a  mile  from  the  wharves. 
But  they  could  not  fill  in  rapidly  enough,  and  much  of  the 
lower  town  is  wharf -built  —  planking  upon  piles.  This 
part  is  principally  composed  of  small  wooden  buildings. 
But  farther  in,  upon  terra  firma,  there  are  broad  streets 
and  many  substantial  edifices  of  brick  and  stone,  some 
being  really  good  in  architecture  and  appearance,  though 
flimsy  wooden  affairs  still  predominate. 

"Although  land  is  exceedingly  valuable,  most  of  the 
better  buildings  are  of  only  two  stories,  and  the  extent  is 
consequently  greater.  Everywhere  construction  and  de- 
struction are  going  on  together.  People  are  generally 
convinced  that  the  town  is  a  fixed  fact.  Few  cities  offer 
such  fine  sites  for  houses.  The  hills,  however,  are  being 
dug  down ;  and  in  making  a  call  yesterday  I  found  the  easiest 
method  of  getting  away  was  to  step  down  a  sand  bank 
eight  feet  high.  It  is  indeed  an  astonishing  place.  To  me, 
coming  from  the  poco  tiempo  of  Panama,  the  contrast  was 
especially  striking.  But  the  whole  thing  appears  unsub- 
stantial. It  is  generally  agreed  that  the  'emplacement' 
of  the  town  is  not  the  best  in  the  bay,  and  there  are  still 


persons  who  expect  that  the  whole  will  be  abandoned  and 
Benicia  or  some  other  locality  chosen. 

"San  Francisco  is  even  more  alive  at  night  than  during 
the  day.  The  shops  are  all  in  full  blast,  and  the  gambling 
houses  filled;  night  auctions  of  old  clothes  and  new,  hats  and 
all  Jew  wares,  are  common.  To-morrow  or  next  day  I  shall 
go  up  to  Benicia,  and  perhaps  begin  my  little  journey  to 
the  mines,  and  perhaps  home.  A  few  days  will  settle  the 
matter.  I  cannot  think  of  anything  else  but  how  to  get 
on  respectably  and  to  have  something  better  than  the  miser- 
able life  of  the  last  two  years.  Having  no  profession  and 
no  mercantile  education  or  experience,  I  have  nothing  to 
fall  back  upon  and  nothing  particular  to  look  forward  to. 
Ill  health  has  destroyed  my  hopefulness.  It  is  of  course 
some  advantage  to  have  visited  this  coast,  but  there  are 
disagreeable  things  connected  with  the  life.  The  standard 
of  right  and  wrong,  of  character,  manners,  and  everything, 
is  peculiar;  and  a  man  gradually  falls  into  indifference  to 
such   things. 

"Monday,  March  28. —  Another  rainy  day,  chilly  and 
dull.  A  little  fire  is  necessary  here  during  the  morning  and 
evening  for  the  whole  year.  The  streets  being  all  covered 
with  wood,  you  walk  upon  a  very  wet  footing,  enormously 
thick  boots  are  de  rigueur,  generally  worn  outside  the  panta- 
loons, more  apparently  in  reminiscence  of  old  times  than 
from  the  necessity  of  the  case.  Except  the  unfinished 
state  of  everything,  there  is  no  air  of  a  new  place  about 
San  Francisco.  The  men  are  well  dressed  and  look  as  if 
they  had  seen  the  world.  The  shops  are  handsome  within, 
and  the  display  of  goods  sometimes  brilliant.  All  restau- 
rants, etc.,  are  furnished  handsomely  and  more  in  the 
European  style  than  anything  one  sees  at  home.  People 
in  business  live  luxuriously  and  work  hard. 

"Wednesday,  March  30. —  This  morning  Capt.  Knight 
has  placed  me  in  charge  of  the  ticket  sales  here.  It  is  not 
a  position  that  suits  me,  and  I  take  it  only  temporarily, 


waiting  for  something  better.  It  gives  me,  however,  some- 
thing to  do,  and  I  shall  at  least  have  an  opportunity  to  see 
the  place  and  get  an  idea  of  how  things  are  managed. 

"Thursday,  March  31. —  To-morrow  sails  the  steamer 
and  this  is  the  busy  day  of  all.  We  are  expected  to  sit  up 
all  night. 

"Friday,  3  a.  m. —  Up  all  night  and  jolly." 

Here  is  an  amusing  bit  of  fooling,  which  contains  some  local  color, 
as  well  as  a  delightful  suggestion  of  intimate  family  ties.  This  letter 
in  doggerel  was  written  to  Winthrop's  sister  Sarah.  "Judge"  was  his 
pet  name  for  her, —  handed  down  from  their  childish  plays,  in  which 
she  had  taken  that  character,  while  the  boys,  Theodore  and  William, 
were,  with  prophetic  instinct,  always  soldiers.  The  last  line  evidently 
refers  to  the  great  fires  which  had  recently  devastated  San  Francisco : 

"San  Frisco,  March  30,  1853. 
"My  dear  little  Judge:  —  Your  memory  I'll  nudge  to 
recall  my  existence  afar.  By  chance  I  am  hurled  to  this 
end  of  the  world,  and  have  quit  my  much-loved  Panama. 
There  I  basked  in  the  sun  from  the  dawn  to  the  dun,  and 
lolled  in  a  hammock  all  day.  Here  I  bustle  about  in  the 
noise  and  the  rout,  nor  tranquil  a  moment  can  stay.  There 
the  moon  of  the  tropics  shone  soft  on  my  optics,  and  I 
gazed  on  its  rays  with  delight.  Here  the  romance  is  off, 
and  I  sneeze  and  I  cough,  if  I  chance  to  be  caught  out  at 
night.  There  fruits  were  the  go; —  by  the  way,  'tisn't  slow 
to  breakfast  on  plantain  well  fried.  Here  'tis  salmon  in- 
stead,—  beef,  pork,  cabbage  head;  and  horses  ten  dollars 
the  ride.  Of  the  beautiful  bay  I  can't  enough  say,  but  there 
it  was  quiet  and  dead;  while  here  ships  and  boats  are  as 
thick  as  the  motes  that  glance  where  the  sunlight  is  spread. 
Here  I've  seen  but  few  dames,  and  don't  know  e'en  their 
names.  They  can't  lisp  'amistad'  and  'amor.'  And  I've 
lost  the  soft  eyes  and  the  half -uttered  sighs  that  touched 
me  so  deeply  before.  There  all  things  were  strange,  and 
your  glances  might  range  o'er  buildings  a  century  old.    Here, 


sleep  but  an  hour,  and  story  and  tower  have  sprung  ere 
their  ashes  were  cold. 

"Here  I  stopped. 


"  San  Francisco,  April  14,  1853. 

"My  dear  Mother: — My  second  impressions  of  San 
Francisco  correspond  with  the  first  in  that  I  am  agreeably 
disappointed  with  the  town  and  its  surroundings.  In  re- 
spect to  mere  position,  the  place  has  not  much  to  boast  of. 
It  began  upon  the  sandy  beach  of  a  cove  in  the  bay  at  the 
foot  of  some  sand-hills,and  as  the  city  progressed  they  cut 
down  the  nearer  parts  of  the  hills  and  threw  their  sand  into 
the  water  extending  the  flat  until  the  present  waterfront 
is  nearly  a  half  mile  beyond  the  original.  Many  old  vessels 
that  lay  anchored  in  their  own  element  are  now  built  into 
blocks  of  solid  edifices.  The  sand-hills  that  remain  partially 
excavated  above  the  town  are  barren.  Only  at  this  season 
they  are  scantily  covered  with  grass  and  a  few  stunted 
bushes.  Of  these  the  only  interesting  one  is  the  California 
lilac  so  called  (Ceanothus'l),  hearing  a  pretty  bluish  flower, 
delightfully  fragrant ;  sometimes  a  large  tree,  but  when 
dwarfed  by  insufficient  nourishment  or  by  the  strong  sea- 
winds,  a  shrub  hardly  perceptible. 

"These  hills,  destined  soon  to  fall  before  the  encroaching 
city,  overhang  it,  and  give  a  bird's-eye  view  of  its  rectangular 
plan  and  everywhere  unfinished  appearance.  The  general 
tone  is  bricky  and  dusty,  almost  all  the  new  buildings  be- 
ing substantial  fireproof  brick  of  one  story.  It  may  safely 
be  called  the  dirtiest  place  in  the  world.  A  single  day  will 
transform  it  from  a  slough,  navigable  only  in  a  pair  of  gaff- 
topsail  boots,  to  an  ankle-deep  dustpan;  and  when  you  con- 
sider that  besides  the  immense  street  traffic,  there  is  hardly 
a  half  block  where  they  are  not  cutting,  or  filling,  or  build- 
ing, or  pulling  down,  you  may  imagine  that  the  springy 
plank  pavements  send  up  dust  thick  as  a  London  fog.    But 


the  same  hills,  though  desolate  enough  in  themselves,  give 
you  not  merely  views  over  the  dusty  waste  but  beyond  it, 
across  the  quiet  inland  sea,  to  the  smooth,  treeless  hills 
that  like  carefully  kept  green  pastures  surround  it.  The 
forms  of  these,  though  not  bold  or  picturesque,  are  graceful 
and  lovely  indeed;  and  in  this  atmosphere,  clear  but  soft, 
they  assume  a  richness  of  hue  that  reminds  me  of  the  shores 
of  Greece.  In  this  landscape  there  are  no  picturesque 
effects,  no  spots  or  nooks  of  beauty;  the  grand  character- 
istic of  the  views  is  breadth,  outline,  panoramic  effect. 
Along  the  southern  shore  of  the  bay,  the  same  soft,  swell- 
ing hills  prevail,  but  the  soil  is  richer,  and  now  in  spring 
they  are  either  beautifully  green  or  thickly  carpeted  with 
flowers,  among  which  the  golden  glow  of  the  Escholtzia 
is  conspicuous.  They  are  entirely  without  enclosures, 
and  you  can  ride  or  walk  where  you  will.  Most  of  the 
flowers  are  new,  but  I  find  very  fine  my  old  fancy,  the 
Bartsia,*  large  yellow  pansies,  and  blue  and  white  lupines. 
They  say  that  farther  in  the  interior,  where  the  real  fer- 
tility of  the  country  begins,  the  flowers  are  richer  and  more 

"I  spent  my  second  Sunday  at  Benicia.  At  the  time  of 
the  great  fires  in  San  Francisco,  f  some  persons,  frightened 
by  these,  and  thinking  that  the  rapidity  of  the  tide  would 
make  so  exposed  an  anchorage  as  San  Francisco  was  before 
wharves  were  built  always  dangerous, —  afraid,  too,  of  the 
violence  of  the  northwest  winds  which  prevail,  and  thinking 
that  there  was  not  room  enough  here  for  the  town, —  were 
considering  whether  a  more  desirable  locality  might  not  be 
found  for  the  western  metropolis.  Some  people  interested  in 
real  estate  persuaded  the  Pacific  Mail  Steamship  Company 
to  establish  its  depot  at  Benicia,  bribing  it  by  the  present 
of  a  large  tule  ground  or  peat  bog.  The  site  of  the  town  is 
desirable  enough  for  an  inland  one,  and  if  certain  projected 

*Castilleia,  Indian  paint-brush. 
tin  1849,  1850  and  1851. 


railroads  should,  sometime  in  the  future,  be  built,  it  may 
become  important.  Meantime,  the  Company  has  wasted 
enormous  sums  in  establishing  its  works  there,  thirty  miles 
from  San  Francisco. 

"The  steamboats  that  ply  on  the  bay  and  rivers  are  as 
complete  in  equipment  as  any  of  our  own;  they  are  fast  and 
explosive;  thirty  persons  were  scalded  to  death  on  the 
Jenny  Lind  the  other  day.  The  sail  up  the  bay  just  at  even- 
ing is  very  beautiful;  everything  is  on  a  broader  scale  than 
the  bay  of  New  York.  The  Sacramento  and  San  Joaquin 
Rivers  issue  first,  as  you  will  see  on  the  map,  into  Suisun  Bay, 
and  then  through  Carquinez  Straits  into  San  Francisco 
Bay.  Benicia  lies  just  above  the  entrance  of  Suisun  Bay 
on  the  slope  of  low  hills, —  a  straggling  town  without  a 
tree.  The  bend  of  the  river  here  is  very  beautiful,  and  the 
opposite  bank,  rising  abruptly,  and  sprinkled  with  low  trees, 
looks  like  a  park.  In  the  background  are  the  two  fine  sum- 
mits of  Monte  Diablo,  two  thousand  feet  high,  distant  thirty 
miles,  but  immediate  in  the  clear  air.  The  water  of  the 
river  is  muddy,  but  looking  down  on  it,  and  especially 
where  the  sun  falls  vertically  upon  the  broad  spread  of 
Suisun  Bay,  it  has  a  pink  color,  something  like  this  blotting- 
paper,  entirely  novel  to  me,  and  pretty.  The  same  soft 
hills  covered  with  flowers  rise  above  the  town.  With  a 
friend,  I  lay  basking  in  the  sun  and  enjoying  the  view  and 
thinking  that  this  part,  at  least,  of  California  was  worthy 
of  the  name.  On  one  of  the  hills  is  the  grave  and  monu- 
ment of  Miles  Goodsell  of  New  Haven,  a  borderer  who  died 

"April  16. —  Last  Sunday  I  had  a  fine  long  walk  down  the 
bay  and  over  the  sand-hills.  We  walked  about  fifteen 
miles,  and  collected  enormous  bunches  of  flowers.  The 
seaward  views  are  noble,  particularly  from  Fort  Point, 
one  of  the  heads  of  the  Golden  Gate,  where  the  United 
States  is  building  a  lighthouse.  Here  you  look  near  two 
hundred   feet  down  a  precipice.     There  is  a  grand  beach 


and  ocean  swell  outside.  Beyond,  the  outer  heads  make 
the  outworks  of  the  bay.  The  conformation  of  some  of  these 
sand-hills  is  singular.  In  some  places  they  sweep  away 
inland,  advancing  like  a  cataract  of  water,  smooth  and 
softly  rounded  to  the  top  and  then  breaking  precipi- 

"The  weather  has  been  almost  perfect  since  my  arrival, 
exactly  the  thing  for  outdoor  exercise,  and  urging  me  to 
terminate  my  tiresome  confinement  to  the  office  and  begin 
my  wanderings.  You  need  not  be  surprised  to  see  me  home 
towards  autumn,  if  I  should  come  across  the  plains  or  by 
Mexico.  I  have  not  yet  made  many  acquaintances,  though 
some  enjoyable  ones.  Jonathan  Edwards,  who  returns  home 
by  this  opportunity  with  his  pile,  has  been  very  pleasant 
and  kind.  Miss  Susan  Dolibar,  now  the  wife  of  Mr.  Thomp- 
son, I  have  seen.  Hall  McAllister  is  an  important  character 
here.  The  Chinamen  form  a  very  large  and  odd  portion 
of  the  population." 

To  his  younger  brother,  William  Woolsey  Winthrop: 

"Dear  Billy: —  I  approve  entirely  of  your  plan  of  going 
to  Europe.  You  could  not  employ  time  and  money  better. 
Perhaps  I  may  offer  you  a  contribution.  You  must  improve 
your  French.  I  hope  to  see  you  before  starting,  and  give 
you  the  benefit  of  my  experience.  I  wish  I  could  be  your 
guide.  Such  a  tour  will  do  more  to  enlarge  the  mind  and 
quicken  the  perception  than  any  other  way  of  spending 
thrice  the  tin." 

War-club  made  of  the  Bone  of  a  Whale.     From  Neah  Bay. 


Winthrop's  letters  and  journals  describing  his  travels  in  Oregon 
and  Washington,  while  of  course  retelling  many  of  the  incidents  of 
"The  Canoe  and  the  Saddle,"  add  much  of  interest  that  is  not  found 
therein.  They  fill  out  the  narrative  of  his  entire  summer  in  the  North- 
west, and  vividly  picture  conditions  on  the  frontier.  We  get  frequent 
glimpses  of  men  who  were  prominent  in  the  new  Territories,  as  well 
as  of  the  local  representatives  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  the  huge 
commercial  organization  by  which  Great  Britain  sought  to  hold  this 
vast  region  for  the  fur  trapper  and  Indian  trader,  and  which  continued 
here  as  a  mercantile  concern  long  after  its  political  significance  had 
passed.  Winthrop's  visit  was,  of  course,  at  a  time  when  the  question 
of  title  had  been  settled,  and  when  American  ownership  and  occupation 
of  the  land  was  no  longer  a  matter  of  diplomatic  negotiation  or  frontier 

All  of  the  men  of  note  mentioned  in  "Canoe  and  Saddle,"  as  well 
as  others,  appear  frequently  in  the  letters  and  diaries.  Most  promi- 
nent of  these  are  the  Hudson's  Bay  factors,  Peter  Skeen  Ogden,  Dr. 
William  F.  Tolmie,  and  Edward  Huggins,  with  many  oflScers  of  the 
United  States  army,  on  duty  at  Vancouver  Barracks  and  old  Fort 

The  Hudson's  Bay  Company  required  its  servants  at  the  several 
trading  posts  to  keep  a  daily  record  of  events.  To  this  excellent  prac- 
tice we  owe  much  information  of  value  to  the  student  of  northwestern 
history,  and  incidentally  some  interesting  side-lights  on  Winthrop's 
book  and  letters.  As  long  as  the  Company  maintained  its  "Fort"  on 
the  Nisqually,  such  journals  were  faithfully  kept  there, —  much  in  the 
fashion  of  a  ship's  log.  Commonly  the  day's  record  begins  with  a  state- 
ment of  the  weather,  and  of  the  trade  in  the  "sale  shop."  Then  a  note 
is  made  of  the  employment  of  the  different  men  of  the  post  for  the  day, — 
some  at  the  Company's  farms  on  the  great  gravel  prairie  south  of  the 
Fort,  or  caring  for  the  Company's  cattle;  others  loading  lumber  for  San 
Francisco,  or  counting  pelts  brought  in  by  the  Company's  French- 

anelsH  .1' 


"Dearest  charmer  of  all  is  St.  Helens,  queen  of  the  Cas- 
cades, queen  of  Northern  America,  a  fair  and  graceful 
volcanic  cone.  Exquisite  mantling  snows  sweep  along 
her  shoulders  toward  the  bristling  pines.  Sometimes 
she  showers  her  realms  with  a  boon  of  light  ashes,  to 
notify  them  that  her  peace  is  repose,  not  stupor;  and 
sometimes  lifts  a  beacon  of  tremulous  flame  by  night 
from  her  summit." 

—Chapter  III. 


Canadian  trappers  or  bought  from  its  Indian  customers.  Record  is 
made  of  the  movements  of  Chief  Factor  Tolmie,  and  occasionally  of 
the  arrival  or  departure  of  strangers  from  "the  States," —  "Americans," 
as  the  old  entries  say. 

In  one  of  these  manuscript  volumes,  now  turning  yellow  with  age, 
and  inscribed:  "Nisqually  Journal,  October  4th,  1852,  to  May  28th, 
1854,"  several  entries  concern  us  directly.  These  not  only  record  Win- 
throp's  visit  to  the  Fort,  but,  what  is  more  important,  they  establish 
the  identity  of  that  fickle  redskin,  "Loolowcan  the  Frowzy."  Here  we 
learn  as  a  fact  what  has  hitherto  been  largely  a  guess  of  the  historians, 
namely,  that  Winthrop's  guide  in  his  trip  across  the  Cascade  Range 
was  a  personage  well  known  to  our  Territorial  history, —  none  other, 
in  fact,  than  the  notorious  Qualchen,  Owhi's  son,  who  later  murdered 
A.  J.  Bolon,  the  Indian  agent,  and  thus  touched  off  the  waiting  mine 
for  the  great  Indian  war  of  1855-7. 

These  entries  in  the  "Nisqually  Journal"  are  in  the  handwriting  of 
a  clerk,  but  they  contain  notes  and  interlineations  in  that  of  Edward 
Huggins,  the  Company's  last  factor  at  the  Fort.  It  is  evident  that 
Mr.  Huggins  made  his  annotations  some  years  later  than  1853,  since 
Winthrop,  at  the  time  of  his  visit,  had  published  nothing,  had  not  even 
decided  upon  literature  as  a  career,  and  could  not  then  have  been  called 
an  "author,"  as  the  factor's  note  describes  him.  They  were  made, 
undoubtedly,  after  the  publication  of  "The  Canoe  and  the  Saddle." 
Mr.  Huggins,  as  his  sons  inform  me,  greatly  admired  this  book,  and  at 
different  times  owned  several  copies  of  it.  One  of  these,  which  he  anno- 
tated, has  most  unfortunately  been  lost. 

Three  passages  from  the  old  "Journal"  are  given  below.  To  distinguish 
between  the  additions  by  Mr.  Huggins  and  the  clerk's  general  record, 
the  former  are  enclosed  in  brackets.  It  will  also  be  noted  that  the 
dates  of  the  "Journal"  differ  by  a  day  from  those  of  Winthrop's  letters. 
This  discrepancy,  however,  is  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  Fort  records 
were  often  made  the  morning  after  the  events  recorded,  and  dated  one 
day  late.  Thus  while  Winthrop's  letter  of  July  23  announces  his  arri- 
val at  the  fort  on  that  day,  the  "Journal"  records  it  under  date  of  July  24. 

The  pertinent  entries  in  the  "Journal"  are  as  follows: 

"Sunday,  July  24,  1853. —  Very  warm.  Captain  Howard,  accom- 
panied by  a  Mr.  Winthrop  [Theodore,  author]  arrived  from  Vancouver. 
Captain  Howard  states  that  he  is  about  commencing  to  work  the  newly 
discovered  coal  mine  in  Bellingham  Bay.  [Note :  This  is  the  Captain 
Howard  of  the  celebrated  Forrest  divorce-case  fame,  and  it  is  rumored 
that  he  is  out  here  to  be  away  when  the  case  is  again  tried,  he  being 
an  important  witness.  This  is  all  table  talk,  though,  and  very  likely 
there  is  no  truth  in  the  report.]" 


"Tuesday,  August  23rd. —  Fine,  Very  warm,  ♦  *  ♦  Evening, 
arrived  from  Victoria  Mr.  T.  Winthrop,  an  American,  who  accom- 
panied Dr.  Tolmie.    Dr.  Tolmie  will  be  here  in  two  or  three  days." 

"Wednesday,  August  24th. — *  *  *  Trade  very  brisk  in  sales 
shop.  Took  upwards  of  $400.00,  principally  from  Klickatats,  a  party 
of  whom  with  the  Chief  Howchai  [Ouchi]  have  just  arrived  with  a  band 
of  horses.  Mr.  Winthrop  [Theodore  Winthrop]  having  obtained  three 
horses  and  an  Indian  Guide  [Qualchen,  son  of  OuchiJ  from  the  Klick- 
atats, left  for  the  Dalles,  by  way  of  the  Mountains  [Naches  Pass]." 

With  the  quotation  of  these  illuminating  extracts  from  the  "Nis- 
qually  Journal,"  we  proceed  with  Winthrop's  letters: 

"Portland,  Oregon  Territory,  April  29,  1853. 

"Dear  Mother: — I  left  San  Francisco  on  Sunday,  the 
24th,  in  the  Columbia.  Outside  the  bay  we  met  a  stiff  nor- 
wester  which  made  me  seasick  as  usual,  and  put  us  back 
nicely.  The  steamer  followed  the  coast  at  a  distance  of 
from  three  to  ten  miles.  The  shores  are  mostly  bold  and 
harborless,  deeply  wooded  with  forests  of  pine;  these  begin 
soon  after  leaving  San  Francisco,  and  continue  north,  cloth- 
ing the  Coast  Range,  and  forming  the  inexhaustible  wealth 
of  the  country.  Already  the  lumber  trade  is  very  important, 
both  from  ports  along  the  coast,  principally  Humboldt  Bay, 
and  on  the  Columbia,  where  numberless  sawmills  are  fast 
opening  little  breathing-holes  in  the  sunless  forest.  The 
size  of  the  redwood  pines  is  almost  fabulous.  What  do 
you  think  of  one  96  feet  in  circumference,  one  35  feet  in 
diameter,  and  one  313  feet  long?  Here  at  Portland,  more 
than  120  miles  from  the  sea,  ships  are  freighted  with  spars 
and  timber  for  China.  For  ages  Oregon  will  supply  lumber 
to  the  new  world  of  the  Pacific.  These  deep  pine  woods  give 
a  gloomy  look  to  the  coast.  The  shores  are  bold  and  surf- 
beaten.  Some  of  the  headlands  are  precipitous  and 
striking.  We  stopped  in  the  night  at  Port  Orford, —  a 
small  military  post  and  settlement. 

"The  bar  at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia  is  dangerous. 
Even  crossing  it,  as  we  did,  with  the  most  favorable  wind 
and  tide,  the  swell  and  roar  of  the  breakers  was  grand. 
Passing  this  you  enter  a  spacious  estuary,  enclosed  between 

ASTORIA.  243 

a  low  piny  point  to  the  south,  and  on  the  other  side,  a  high 
wooded  bluff,  terminating  in  a  clear  green  spot,  an  old 
battle-ground  of  the  Indians.  You  look  out  upon  a  broad 
expanse  of  water,  surrounded  by  low  mountains,  black  with 
pines.  In  the  distance,  and  more  than  a  hundred  miles 
inland,  the  beautiful  cone  of  Mt.  St.  Helens,  one  of  the 
noblest  of  snowy  mountains,  is  a  crown  to  the  view.  The 
river  at  this  point  is  very  grand  and  solitary,  worthy  of 
being  the  great  stream  of  the  Pacific  Coast. 

"Proceeding,  you  bend  to  the  right,  and  find  in  a  small 
cove  the  few  houses  of  Astoria.  There  is  a  little  clearing 
on  the  slope,  giving  just  room  enough  for  perhaps  twenty- 
five  buildings.  The  situation  is  not  fitted  for  a  town,  and 
the  anchorage  and  channel  will  hinder,  if  not  prevent,  its 
becoming  the  site  of  a  great  place,  such  as  must  arise  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Columbia.  Just  above,  a  very  pretty 
and  picturesque  promontory  called  Tongue  Point  runs  out 
from  the  technical  left  bank  of  the  river,  commanding  its 
whole  sweep.  Five  miles  or  so  brings  you  to  the  real  course 
of  the  stream,  from  one  to  three  miles  in  width.  As  it  nar- 
rows, some  bold  basaltic  cliffs  rise  above,  in  three  very 
narrow  terraces,  with  deep  water  at  the  base,  and  covered 
with  thick  firs.  The  opposite  banks  are  low,  and  deciduous 
trees  with  fresh  spring  foliage  make  a  beautiful  contrast. 
Two  or  three  little  threads  of  cascades  fall  down  the  cliff. 

"The  scenery  all  along  is  of  a  similar  character,  wild 
and  imposing  as  the  lower  course  of  a  great  river  should  be, 
but  solitary.  The  first  stopping  places  are  hardly  more 
than  a  sawmill  and  a  house.  Opposite  the  mouth  of  the 
Cowlitz,  a  village  called  Rainier  is  growing  up,  to  meet  the 
trade  from  Puget  Sound  (which  I  hope  to  visit).  At  this 
point  the  splendid  peak  of  St.  Helens  came  out  brilliantly 
white  against  the  sky;  it  is  a  rounded  cone,  of  which  you 
see  nothing  but  the  snowy  summit,  one  thu-d  of  the  moun- 
tain, above  surrounding  ranges.  It  is  a  volcano,  and  still 
occasionally  smokes  from  a  black  spot  on  the  side.    At  the 


town  of  St.  Helens,  the  course  of  the  river  brings  the  peak 
opposite  and  full  in  view, —  a  grand  object  for  perpetual 
admiration, —  quite  isolated.  The  clouds  hid  the  other 
peaks.  Rainier  and  Hood. 

"St.  Helens,  which  has  now  about  thirty  houses,  is  at 
the  proper  head  of  navigation  for  large  ships,  and  is  likely 
to  become  the  important  point.  The  Company  has  built 
a  fine  wharf,  and  is  about  to  transfer  its  depot  there.  Here 
the  bank  is  a  rock  of  basalt,  perhaps  twenty  feet  high, 
affording  an  admirable  locality  for  town  and  port.  One 
mouth  of  the  Willamette  comes  in  here.  From  this  point 
it  became  too  dark  to  see.  Vancouver  is  said  to  be  a  lovely 
spot;  I  am  going  there  to-day.  Portland,  up  the  Willamette, 
the  farthest  point  to  which  vessels  of  any  size  can  go,  strag- 
gles along  the  bank  of  the  river,  a  thriving  place  of  1,500 
people,  rescued  from  the  forest." 

"Portland,  Oregon,  April  29,  1853. 

"Dear  Sister:  — It  was  natural  for  me  to  have  gone  to 
California  when  on  the  Pacific  Coast,  but  coming  here,  to  a 
country  once  so  much  more  thought  of  than  California, 
and  of  late  so  little  in  comparison,  has  a  different  effect. 
Oregon  still  seems  distant  from  the  old  United  States, — still 
seems  to  be  the  far  Northwest;  and  there  is  a  feeling  of  grand- 
eur connected  with  the  mountains  and  forests  and  the  great 
continental  river  of  this  country  that  belongs  to  nothing  in 
the  land  of  gold.  The  Columbia  is  most  imposing  in  its 
lower  course,  a  great,  broad,  massive  stream.  Its  scenery 
has  a  breadth  and  a  wild  power  every  way  worthy  of  it. 
It  will  bear  cultivation  admirably;  also  and  sometime — a 
thousand  years  hence  —  the  beauty  of  its  highly  finished 
shores  will  be  exquisite. 

"There  is  a  heartiness  and  rough  sincerity  impressed 
upon  people  by  the  kind  of  life  they  lead  in  these  new  coun- 
tries. An  easy  hospitality,  given  and  received  without 
much  ceremony,  is  a  thing  of  course.    Prices  are  so  high 


that  the  old  ideas  of  economy  are  thrown  aside.  Money 
is  easily  made  and  freely  spent;  a  dollar  is  nothing.  All 
the  men  of  the  country  are  young,  and  almost  all  prosperous. 
Here  in  Oregon,  so  far  as  I  have  seen,  the  style  is  quite 
different  from  that  of  California.  The  population  of  Ore- 
gon is  not  all  of  the  most  valuable  kind.  It  consists  largely 
of  the  successors  of  the  pioneers,  who  have  not  the  energy 
of  a  real  farming  population,  and  are  half  nomad  still, 
without  the  local  attachment  necessary  to  progress. 

"The  very  bad  land  system  of  Oregon,  framed  to  pre- 
vent speculation,  has  prevented  investment  in  land  by  set- 
tlers who  could  not  wait  until  a  residence  of  four  years 
upon  a  spot  gave  them  its  o\\Tiership,  or  of  two  (under  the 
new  law)  the  privilege  of  purchase.  At  present  no  one  not 
living  upon  a  tract  can  possess  it;  there  are  no  titles  even 
to  house  lots  in  the  towns.  As  no  one  can  buy,  of  course 
no  one  will  make  large  or  permanent  improvements.  The 
prosperous  people  are  the  cattle  and  produce  farmers, 
principally  in  the  valley  of  the  Willamette,  where  the  bulk 
of  the  population  is  collected.  Everything  they  can  raise 
meets  a  ready  market,  either  shipped  down  the  Willamette 
and  Columbia  or  Umpqua  for  San  Francisco,  or  carried 
back  into  the  northern  mining  district  on  pack-mules.  These 
mines  are  principally  supplied  from  the  upper  Willamette 
and  Umpqua  with  fresh  provisions,  and  now  indeed  all 
provisions  are  more  conveniently  carried  to  them  from  this 
district  than  up  the  Sacramento.  It  is  the  Paradise  of  farm- 
ers. Lumbering  also  is  lucrative,  and  store-keeping.  Man- 
ual labor  of  all  kinds  is  highly  paid.  Oregon,  however,  is 
essentially  a  new  country,  and  has  the  wants  of  a  new  country. 
In  this  it  differs  from  California,  which  has  taken  a  peculiar 
tone  from  its  colonization  and  the  enormous  San  Francisco 
commerce,  making  it  like  a  finished  old  place.  There  must 
always  be  a  marked  difference  in  their  character  and  people. 

"In  a  few  minutes  I  shall  turn  in  between  the  blankets 


of  my  host,  Mr.  Malcolm  Breck,  who  has  a  large  country- 
store  and  business  here.    Good  night! 

"April  80. —  My  plans  are  quite  grand  for  a  tour  in 
these  regions  till  my  money  is  all  gone.  On  the  steamer 
coming  here,  I  met  a  character, —  a  typical  pioneer.  Born  in 
Kentucky,  educated  as  a  surveyor,  and  passing  his  early 
life  on  the  frontier,  he  moved  to  this  country  fifteen  years 
ago  with  his  family  in  the  first  emigration,  took  up  a  whole 


Famous  Hudson's  Bay  Factor  at  Fort  Vancouver,  prior  to  Winthrop's 

visit.     "Father  of  Old  Oregon." 

claim,  and  now  by  the  sudden  colonization  of  the  country 
and  rise  in  farm  produce  finds  himself  a  rich  man.  He  is 
rough,  ugly,  and  backwoodslike,  but  has  the  real  love  of 
nature  and  freedom,  with  a  tinge  of  romance." 

"Vancouver,  Washington  Territory,  May  1,  1853. 
"My  dear  Mother:—  I  rode  over  here  from  Portland 
yesterday.  The  distance  is  about  eight  miles  by  land,  but 
eighteen  down  the  Willamette  and  up  the  Columbia.  In 
these  eight  miles  there  are  three  ferries  —  across  the  Wil- 
lamette, across  a  slough  of  the  Columbia,  and  then  across 



the  main  stream,  here  a  mile  broad.  Vancouver,  formerly 
Fort  Vancouver,  is  the  headquarters  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  and  of  the  United  States  army  for  Oregon  and 
Washington  Territories.  It  is  upon  the  right  or  north  bank 
of  the  Columbia,  six  miles  above  the  Willamette.  Having 
long  been  settled  here,  the  Company  have  cleared  and  cul- 
tivated a  large  space  of  land,  and  given  to  the  broad  meadow 
on  the  river  bank  the  beautiful  smoothness  of  an  English 


The  explorer  celebrated  by  Irving.    Commandant  of  the  U.  S.  Army 

Post  at  Vancouver  during  Winthrop's  visit. 

lawn.  There  is  a  belt  of  fine  trees  along  the  river,  and  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  back  the  ground  rises  in  a  terrace,  upon 
which  are  the  houses  and  barracks  of  the  United  States 
troops.  Below,  upon  the  flat,  just  above  the  inundations 
of  the  river,  are  the  stockade  and  warehouses  of  the  Company. 
The  stockade  contains  four  or  five  very  large  block  store- 
houses, with  the  house  of  the  Governor  and  several  minor 
buildings.  When  the  Indians  were  numerous  and  danger- 
ous, these  stockades  were  necessary  for  protection,  but  now 


the  Indians  have  dwindled  into  insignificance.  The  beauti- 
ful tract  of  the  Company  will  probably  soon  be  purchased 
by  the  United  States,  or  absorbed  illegally  by  squatters. 
The  trade  is  still  considerable,  though  more  with  the  whites 
than  the  Indians.  The  United  States  station  includes  a 
number  of  neat  log  houses,  forming  three  sides  of  an  oblong, 
and  looking  down  to  the  river  over  the  exquisite  green  lawn. 
Back  of  all  is  the  deep  pine  forest  and  two  or  three  outljing 

"I  was  fortified  with  a  letter  of  introduction  from  General 
Hitchcock*  to  the  commanding  officer,  Col.  Bonneville, f 
who  received  me  very  kindly,  and  gave  me  quarters  in  his 
house.  I  was  soon  at  home  with  all  the  officers.  I  had  also 
a  letter  to  Governor  Ogden  of  the  H.  B.  Co.  He  is  of 
New  Jersey  but  a  British  subject,  all  his  life  in  the  service, 
and  looks  like  an  old  gray  lion.  I  had  intended  to  stop  here, 
and  go  up  the  Columbia  only  as  far  as  the  Cascades  and  the 
Dalles,  and  then  visit  Puget  Sound;  but  I  found  that  Captain 
Brent,  with  a  small  party,  was  going  to  Fort  Hall  and  Salt 
Lake,  and  to  return  thence  to  California,  and  I  decided  at 
once  to  join  him.  The  Hon.  Mr.  Fitzwilliam,  a  young  Eng- 
lishman of  my  own  age,  is  also  of  the  party,  on  his  way 
across  the  plains,  and  we  shall  travel  as  pleasantly  as  pos- 
sible. Captain  Brent  goes  on  government  service,  and  we 
shall  see  some  of  the  most  interesting  parts  of  the  less  vis- 
ited Indian  country.  I  have  not  yet  decided  whether  to 
go  on  with  Fitzwilliam  across  the  plains  and  report  to  you, 
via  St.  Louis,  or  return  to  California.  Most  likely  the  latter. 
We  shall  travel  expedite,  and  be  about  thirty  days  from  the 
Dalles  to  Salt  Lake  City,  where,  if  sufficient  inducement 

*Gen.  Ethan  Allen  Hitchcock,  an  old  family  friend,  and  an  army 
officer  of  distinction. 

t  The  celebrated  "Captain  Bonneville,"  whose  western  exploration 
and  adventures  furnished  Washington  Irving  with  the  materials  for 
one  of  his  most  famous  books.  The  Captain  Brent  mentioned  below 
was  Captain  T.  L.  Brent,  depot  quartermaster  at  Fort  Vancouver. 

THE  DALLES.  249 

offers,  I  may  turn  Mormon.  Once  off,  you  may  not  hear 
from  me  for  a  long  time,  but  you  need  have  no  anxiety,  as 
we  travel  with  perfect  security.  I  expect  to  gain  health 
and  strength  enough  to  last  the  rest  of  my  life.  I  should 
come  of  course  straight  on  home  with  Fitzwilliam  but  I 
have  left  all  my  traps  in  California,  and  seen  nothing  of 
that  country  —  not  even  the  mines.  However,  quien  sabe 
but  I  shall  knock  at  your  door  about  the  end  of  July  in  a 
flannel  shirt  and  buckskin  breeches?" 

"Dalles  of  the  Columbia,  May  10,  '53. 

"My  dear  Mother: — We  left  Vancouver  on  Monday  in 
the  little  steamer  Multnomah.  At  4  p.  m.  we  reached  the 
landing  at  the  foot  of  the  rapids,  in  the  midst  of  the  Cas- 
cade Mountains.  These  mountains  are  of  trap  formation, 
and  present  bold  broken  crags  and  precipitous  fronts.  The 
scenery  had  already  been  grander  and  wilder  than  any  river 
I  had  seen,  and  upward  to  this  place  it  became  more  and  more 
singular  and  striking.  The  mountains  are  from  1,500  to 
5,000  feet  high,  and  the  great  river  forces  its  way  through 
them  in  a  wild  pine-clad  gorge  for  sixty  miles.  We  encamped 
at  the  landing,  and  next  day  took  the  luggage  of  the  party 
up  to  the  foot  of  the  principal  rapid  in  small  boats,  where 
we  portaged  them  by,  on  a  rude  tram  road.  The  company 
being  large,  —  Captain  Brent's  party,  with  one  hundred 
days'  provisions,  and  Capt.  Wallen's*  company  of  infantry 
with  baggage,  ammunition,  caissons,  etc., —  this  process 
occupied  two  entire  days,  till  we  got  on  board  a  flat  boat. 

"Our  boat  was  navigated  by  two  ignorami,  and  we 
had  to  stop  and  cut  a  big  steering  oar  in  the  woods.  It 
blew  a  gale  —  our  flat  came  near  being  wrecked,  which 
would  have  been  awkward  with  sixty  men  on  board;  and 
we  put  into  port  about  seven  miles  up,  where  we  encamped. 
Next  morning,  with  scenery  growing  still  wilder,  we  went 
up  stream,  the  strong  wind  helping  our  crazy  craft  to  struggle. 

*Captain  Henry  Davies  Wallen,  U.  S.  A. 


About  noon  we  put  into  port  again,  waiting  for  the  wind  to 
fall,  and  I  had  time  to  climb  a  mountain  and  see  the  course  of 
the  river.  We  got  away  in  the  afternoon,  and  camped 
about  twenty  miles  up,  in  a  splendid  place.  The  tents 
and  numerous  camp-fires  made  the  woods  and  the  crags 
most  animated.  Many  pretty  cascades  came  tumbling 
into  the  river.  On  the  third  day  we  reached  the  Dalles, 
and  were  most  hospitably  entertained  at  the  Barracks,  I 
being  quartered  with  Major  Alvord,*  the  commandant,  to 
whom  I  had  a  letter  from  General  Hitchcock.  The  cam- 
paign thus  far  has  been  delightful,  with  a  pleasant  and  lively 
set  of  officers,  and  all  the  excitement  of  a  small  military 
expedition.  We  find  there  need  be  no  apprehension  about 
the  Indians. 

"The  Cascades  of  the  Columbia  are  rapids,  not  falls, 
but  very  picturesque.  Here  at  the  Dalles,  the  river  is  drawn 
into  a  narrow  compass  between  walls  of  trap,  about  forty 
feet  high,  and  at  the  Dalles  proper,  is  confined  in  a  space 
of  eighty-five  yards.     This  I  will  visit  to-day." 

"Portland,  0.  T.,  June  13,  '53. 

"My  dear  Mother: — L'komme  propose?  Dieu  dispose!  1 
made  my  preparations  to  return  across  the  plains,  and 
reached  the  Dalles,  as  I  have  written  you,  but  went  no  far- 
ther. There  I  had,  very  mildly,  the  small-pox,  which  I 
probably  caught  from  a  friend  whom  I  visited  in  Portland, 
at  the  moment  when  the  disease  was  most  infectious.  He, 
poor  fellow,  had  it  terribly;  but  with  me  the  fever  was  slight, 
and  the  eruption  has  left  almost  no  traces.  The  day  I 
wrote  you  I  had  a  slight  fever,  so  that  I  was  hardly  able 
to  keep  my  saddle  in  a  ride  to  the  Dalles,  and  on  returning 
I  felt  so  ill  as  to  lie  down.  I  was  quartered  with  Major 
Alvord.  On  the  disease  pronouncing  itself,  he  gave  up 
his  room  to  me  and  camped  out.  From  him  and  all  the 
other  officers,  as  well  as  Doctor  Summers,  I  received  every 

*Major  Benjamin  Alvord,  U.  S.  A. 


kindness,  though  of  course  they  had  to  avoid  me.  The 
disease  has  been  virulent  here,  the  Indians  dying  in  crowds  — 
almost  every  one  who  was  attacked.  With  me,  except  the 
slight  irritation  caused  by  the  eruption,  the  illness  itself 
was  nothing;  the  chief  discomfort  was  the  idea  of  having  a 
dangerous  malady  and  the  fear  of  giving  it  to  others.  I 
was  of  course  disappointed  in  not  being  able  to  go  with 
Brent  and  Fitzwilliam.  I  was  pronounced  safe  in  about 
three  weeks,  and  am  now  in  excellent  health.  It  was  use- 
less to  try  to  overtake  my  party ;  so  I  determined  to  defer 
the  trip. 

"The  country  about  the  Dalles  is  desolate  and  wild 
in  the  extreme.  Sad  must  be  the  disappointment  of  the 
emigrants,  who  have  heard  of  the  beauty  of  the  country, 
on  arriving  there  in  the  autumn,  when  every  green  thing  is 
parched,  themselves  wayworn,  their  wealth  of  cattle  become 
poverty, —  half  starved  and  almost  hopeless.  But  the  beauty 
of  Oregon  is  farther  on,  and  if  the  rest  of  the  Willamette  and 
the  adjoining  valleys  correspond  with  what  I  have  seen, 
Oregon  is  certainly  one  of  the  loveliest  places  on  the  earth. 

"While  I  was  ill,  the  Columbia  rose  enormously, —  its 
regular  June  flood  from  the  melting  of  the  snows.  This  made 
a  difference  of  thirty  feet  in  the  water  level  below,  in  the 
broad  part  of  the  stream.  The  country  about  Vancouver 
and  at  the  mouth  of  the  Willamette  is  now  a  vast  lake. 
The  narrow  channels  of  the  Dalles  were  filled  almost  to  the 
brim,  and  the  rapids  at  the  Cascades  nearly  obliterated, 
showing  only  huge  tossing  breakers  and  a  current  of  aston- 
ishing velocity.  Through  this  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company's 
boat,  which  brought  us  down,  was  shot,  half-laden,  by  the 
Indians,  most  beautifully.  The  Dalles  proper  (for  the  whole 
of  the  narrow  channel  through  the  basalt,  for  four  or  five 
miles,  is  also  'the  Dalles')  is  a  spot  where  the  whole  body 
of  the  river  is  confined  within  three  narrow  rifts  in  the  rock, 
the  widest  only  about  sixty  yards,  and  the  others  almost 
jumpable.    The  difference  of  level  between  high  and  low 


water  is  more  than  sixty  feet.  When  the  river  is  low  it  must 
be  even  wilder  and  stranger.  There  is  nothing  beautiful 
except  the  grandeur  of  the  mighty  rushing  torrent  mass. 
These  three  channels  are  cut  in  a  bed  of  rough  trap  rock, 
which  crops  out  all  over  the  barren,  bare  country.  It  needs, 
however,  only  moisture  to  make  it  fertile,  and  the  little  val- 
leys of  some  small  streams  are  rich. 

"The  barracks  are  a  mile  from  the  river,  upon  a  hillside, 
scantily  wooded  with  pines  and  oaks,  with  a  noble  view  of 
Mt.  Hood,  always  magnificent  with  its  unsullied  snows. 
Just  at  the  angle  of  the  Columbia  below,  the  rounded  snowy 
cone  of  Mt.  Adams  fills  up  the  gap  of  the  range.  These 
snowy  summits  are  all  isolated,  not  forming  the  beautiful 
ranges  of  the  Alps.  They  rise  singly  and  apart,  and  it  is 
only  at  a  certain  elevation  that  you  command  more  than  one 
or  two  at  a  view.  As  single  peaks,  all  are  very  fine,  but  I 
have  not  yet  seen  any  picturesque  high  mountain  scenery. 

"I  left  the  Dalles  on  June  4th,  in  one  of  the  H.  B. 
Go's,  boats  carrying  furs,  collected  during  the  winter  at  Fort 
Colville  by  a  fine  specimen  of  a  wild  highlander,  who  has 
charge  of  that  post.  He  was  followed  by  a  fine  'tail'  of  half- 
breeds  and  Indians,  with  one  picturesque  old  white-headed  Ca- 
nadian, of  whom  I  bought  a  noble  pair  of  buckskin  panta- 
loons. The  free  life  that  these  men  lead  in  the  wilderness 
has  great  charms  for  me.  Captain  Wallen  and  I  had  a 
pleasant  trip  down  the  river,  floating  almost  fast  enough, 
but  the  Indians  pulled  like  good  fellows,  rising  up  to  their 
oars.  We  stopped  once  or  twice  for  them  to  'muck-a- 
muck,'* which  they  are  ready  for  forty  times  a  day.  We  got 
to  the  Cascades  about  1  p.  m.,  and  making  the  portage, 
while  the  lightened  boat  shot  the  rapids,  got  away  on  the 
lower  river  by  5  o'clock.  The  evening  was  lovely.  At 
nightfall  the  Indians  all  went  to  sleep  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  and  we  floated  rapidly  down  stream  all  night,  by  star- 
light, dozing  in  our  blankets.  At  4  a.  m.  we  landed  at  Van- 
*To  eat,  in  Chinook  jargon. 


couver,  where  I  was  kindly  received  again  by  Gov.  Ogden. 
The  flood  had  been  very  destructive  to  the  crops;  the  whole 
of  the  lovely  meadow  was  a  great  lake.  The  officers  of  the 
garrison  are  pleasant  company,  and  the  H.  B.  Co.  live 
in  solid,  comfortable  style,  with  plenty  of  good  beer.  I  en- 
joyed my  final  convalescence.  The  Indians  upon  the  Columbia 
are  a  miserable  race,  living  principally  upon  salmon  and 
roots.  The  fishery  at  the  Cascades  is  fabulously  productive, 
and  the  Indian  lodges  for  drying  the  richly  colored  fish 
are  real  curiosities.  The  fish  are  caught  in  a  scoop  net, 
which  an  Indian  —  standing  on  a  framework,  built  over 
the  most  rapid  spots  —  sweeps  down  against  the  stream  till 
he  catches  his  quantum.  I  have  seen  them  take  four  or 
five  splendid  fish  in  as  many  minutes.  The  whole  world 
lives  upon  salmon,  till  it  is  tired  of  it. 

"I  came  back  to  Portland  and  found  my  friends  as  be- 
fore. I  met  here  William  Moulthrop,  formerly  of  New 
Haven,  whose  father  has  a  very  fine  ranch  about  twenty- 
five  miles  from  this  place.  He  and  his  father  both  came  out 
to  the  coast  in  command  of  different  vessels,  and  falling  into 
the  Oregon  trade  have  settled  in  the  country." 

"Scottsburg,  Umpqua  River,  June  28, 1853. 

"My  letters  come  to  you  from  places  which  you  never 
heard  of  perhaps,  but  of  importance  in  this  growing  coun- 
try. This  is  a  town  just  cut  out  of  the  woods,  and  rough 
enough  in  appearance,  and  almost  inaccessible  at  times,  but 
a  large  business  is  done  here.  It  is  one  of  the  principal  points 
of  supply  by  mule  trains  for  the  North  California  and  Ore- 
gon mines,  and  for  a  large  and  beautiful  farming  country 
on  the  upper  Umpqua  River. 

"Leaving  Portland,  I  followed  up  the  Willamette  val- 
ley. The  scenery  is  exquisite.  Of  the  river  I  did  not  see 
much,  as  it  flows  between  banks  thickly  wooded  with  firs; 
but  the  valley  is  composed  of  beautiful  smooth  prairies, 
sprinkled  with  belts  of  heavy  timber,  or  open  groves  of 


oaks.  This  is  the  general  character  of  the  country, — 
smooth  grazing  meadows,  suitable  for  any  kind  of  farming. 
The  plains  are  broken  by  constant  water  courses.  On  one 
side  the  Coast  Range  closes  the  view,  a  rough  and  rather 
desolate  chain.  On  the  other  are  the  Cascade  Mountains, 
higher  and  more  distant,  and  defined  by  the  great  snow 
peaks,  which  rise  almost  isolated  and  at  nearly  regular  in- 
tervals. From  many  spots  several  of  the  peaks  can  be 
seen  far  off  upon  the  horizon.  From  one  hill  near  Salem, 
the  present  capital  of  the  Territory,  I  could  see  Mts.  St. 
Helens,  Adams,  Hood,  Jefferson,  and  the  Three  Sisters. 
At  this  great  distance,  nearly  two  hundred  miles,  the  smooth, 
rounded  cone  of  St.  Helens  is  particularly  beautiful,  rising 
as  if  at  once  from  the  plain,  magnificently  defined  against 
the  sky  in  the  blue  distance.  Looking  at  the  peaks  so 
far  off,  they  are  perhaps  even  more  imposing  than  a  connected 
range,  and  I  have  seen  few  more  striking  views  than  one 
near  Salem,  where  the  eye  could  command  all  of  them,  with 
a  vast  expanse  of  plain  and  forest,  sprinkled  with  cultivated 
spots  and  backed  by  the  far  blue  mountains.  It  is  the  part 
of  the  world  to  live  in ! 

"Most  of  the  valley  being  open,  excellent  roads  are 
made  merely  by  driving  wagons  over  the  grass  till  a  track 
is  worn.  To  a  traveller  on  horseback,  progress  is  easy. 
The  donation  law,  giving  to  every  family  settled  before  1849 
a  section  of  land,  and  to  every  single  man  a  half  section, 
has  strung  along  cabins  at  a  distance  of  a  mile  or  so,  with 
their  little  spots  of  cultivation;  but  in  general  the  wide  plains 
are  open  and  grazed  by  herds  of  the  finest  cattle.  The 
stock  of  American  cattle  here  is  exceedingly  good,  the  best 
alone  supporting  the  trip  across  and  being  improved  by  it, 
as  well  as  by  the  excellent  pasture  of  the  country.  Though 
the  Willamette  valley  is  not  very  \^ide,  each  small  stream 
that  flows  into  it  has  its  own  little  spot  of  smooth  verdure  in 
the  forest,  with  a  supply  of  fine  oak  and  fir  timber  for  the 
cabins,  and  a  stream  of  water  at  the  door.    Labor  is  dear. 


and  the  prices  of  farm  products  high.  The  old  farmers  of 
Oregon  found  themselves  suddenly  rich  on  the  discovery  of 
the  gold,  and  became  lazy,  so  that  nothing  has  been  done 
to  develop  the  country  in  proportion  to  its  resources.  Many 
settlers  are  half-breeds  and  Canadians  of  the  H.  B.  Co. 
There  is  one  extensive  district  called  the  French  Prairie, 
where  you  naturally  ask  for  a  glass  of  water  in  that 
language.  A  few  Indians  remain,  but  they  are  lazy  and  good 
for  nothing,  and  the  salmon  fishing  makes  them  com- 
paratively rich.  The  Indians  of  the  lower  country  are  more 
powerful  and  more  dangerous. 

"I  bought  a  fine  American  mare,  and  riding  from  Port- 
land to  Oregon  City  one  evening,  started  next  morning  up 
the  river.  The  short  interval  between  the  farm  houses 
makes  it  always  possible  to  get  something  to  eat,  and  if 
there  is  a  lady  of  the  house,  she  is  always  captivated  by  talk- 
ing of  the  trip  across  the  plains,  which  almost  all  the  Oregon 
women  have  made.  You  turn  your  horse  into  the  rich  pas- 
tures, and  take  a  nooning  under  the  trees,  or  a  bath  in  some 
living  brook.  In  the  forests,  whether  oak  or  fir,  the  fern 
is  usually  breast  deep.  Everything  grows  in  this  country. 
The  weather  has  been  delicious,  and  the  heat  bearable,  ex- 
cept at  noon,  the  nights  cool  enough  for  blankets, —  one  of 
the  first  things,  by  the  way,  to  think  of  in  Oregon. 

"My  first  night  brought  me  to  Salem,  a  village  of  less 
than  a  thousand  people,  on  one  of  these  exquisite  plains. 
The  streets  are  wide,  and  the  original  oak  trees  have  been 
left  about.  Mt.  Hood  is  everywhere  in  plain  sight.  There 
were  rumors  of  gold  discoveries  in  the  neighboring  moun- 
tains, but  nothing  authentic.  My  second  day  carried  me 
through  a  region  of  equal  beauty  to  Marysville,  the  head  of 
high-water  steam  navigation  on  the  Willamette,  on  another 
fine  plain,  where  the  Coast  Range  comes  nearer.  When- 
ever one  has  hit  on  a  good  site  for  a  town,  his  next  neighbor 
starts  a  rival  one,  so  that  there  are  often  two  settlements 
within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  open  warfare.    If  you  buy  a 


lot  in  one,  you  lose  the  good  opinion  of  everybody  in  the 

"I  stopped  the  third  night  at  a  farmer's  house, —  a  back- 
woodsman enriched  by  the  mines,  and  now  not  even  taking 
the  trouble  to  milk  his  cows,  except  for  the  household.  All 
the  farmers  who  have  stuck  by  their  business  and  been  even 
half  industrious  are  now  rich.  Rough  enough,  too,  are  some 
of  them,  Tike  County'  men,  as  they  say, —  real  backwoods- 
men who  have  fallen  into  pleasant  places.* 

"My  fourth  day  I  was  to  have  arrived  at  the  house  of 
Mr.  Applegate  at  Youcalla,  but  having  taken  a  nap  and  a 
bath  by  the  way,  and  crossed  the  Callapooya  mountain, 
the  dividing  ridge  between  the  Willamette  and  Umpqua, 
I  only  arrived  in  the  valley  of  the  latter  just  at  nightfall, 
and  missed  the  house.  Finding  out  my  mistake  at  a  house 
several  miles  beyond,  as  it  was  already  late,  I  found  a  nice 
oak  grove,  turned  out  my  horse  to  graze,  made  a  splendid 
fire  in  a  hollow  tree  and  a  capital  bed  of  my  blankets  and  the 
big  leather  saddle  cover,  ate  two  soda  biscuits,  and  turned 
in  for  the  night.  Next  morning,  I  rode  back  to  Youcalla, 
to  breakfast.  Mr.  Applegate  was  of  the  emigration  of  1843, 
and  is  a  man  of  remarkable  intelligence  and  energy.  He 
looks  like  a  backwoodsman,  but  thinks  like  the  most  culti- 
vated. He  has  nearly  confirmed  my  partially  formed  in- 
tention of  settling  in  this  country.  His  farm  is  a  pretty 
meadow,  completely  encompassed  by  hills  covered  with 
grass,  which  serve  as  a  range  for  the  cattle  that  form  his 
wealth.  The  neighborhood  of  the  mines  makes  every  farm- 
ing product  valuable." 

"Fort  Vancouver,  July  11. 

"I  cannot  now  take  time  to  describe  my  day  with  Mr. 

Applegate,  my  trip    to    Scottsburg,  with    sail  down  the 

Umpqua  to  the  mouth,  my  journey  up  the  river  again  by 

another  route  to  Winchester,  whence  want  of  time  pre- 

See  note  on  "Pikes,"  page  15. 


vented  me  from  going  to  the  mines.  I  returned  another 
way,  down  the  left  bank  of  the  Willamette,  through  the 
beautiful  Yamhill  country,  diverged  across  the  Tualatin 
plains  and  the  Skapoose  Mountains,  to  the  town  of  St. 
Helens  on  the  Columbia,  and  stopped  by  the  way  to  ascend 
the  Chehalem  Mountain,  whence  there  is  a  noble  panorama 
of  the  plains  and  the  snow  peaks,  worthy  of  the  Alps.  If 
I  had  a  home,  a  wife,  and  something  to  fix  me  to  a  local  hab- 
itation, I  should  most  certainly  establish  myself  here  in 
Oregon.  But  until  I  have  some  such  tie  I  shall  probably  con- 
tinue a  rolling  stone.  I  have  now  considerable  experience 
of  the  way  to  get  on  in  this  coimtry,  and,  if  I  could  decide 
to  be  stationary,  could  make  a  small  fortune  in  six  months. 
I  am  now  at  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company's  place,  where  I  am 
always  at  home.  The  exploring  expeditions  to  meet  Major 
Stevens*  on  the  Northern  Route  are  just  starting.  I  should 
have  joined  one  of  them  if  I  had  been  upon  the  spot  when 
they  were  organized,  but  now  do  not  think  it  best.  I  have 
never  felt  better.     I  close  in  Portland,  in  splendid  weather." 

To  his  brother  William: 

"Vancouver,  July  12th,  1853. 

"My  deaf  Brother: — I  wish  you  could    see  the  great 

'brick'  of  these  parts.  Governor  Ogden  of  the  H.  B.  Co., 

and  other  minor  bricks  of  the  same;' — certainly  the  nicest 

set  of  men  whom  I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  know,  free 

*  Major  Isaac  Ingalls  Stevens,  who  had  been  appointed  by  President 
Pierce  as  the  first  Governor  of  Washington  Territory,  and  who  was 
coming  west  through  the  Dakotas  and  through  Montana,  at  the  head 
of  a  large  expedition,  exploring  a  route  for  the  "Northern  Railway." 
Stevens  had  won  his  major's  rank  by  brilliant  fighting  at  Chapultepec, 
in  the  Mexican  War.  He  resigned  from  the  Army  in  March,  1853,  to 
accept  the  governorship,  but  returned  to  it,  with  the  rank  of  Colonel, 
in  1861.  Distinguished  service  in  the  field  characterized  his  Civil  War 
record  until  his  death  at  the  battle  of  Chantilly,  September  1,  1862. 
The  subordinate  expedition  of  Captain  Geo.  B.  McClellan,  acting 
under  General  Stevens's  orders  to  survey  the  Cascade  Range  for  a 
practicable  pass  for  the  Railway,  left  Vancouver  late  in  July. 


and  hospitable,  full  of  fun  and  good  sense.  This  Oregon  is 
a  noble  country  !  The  summer  climate  is  almost  perfection, 
and  the  winter,  though  rainy,  not  severe  or  disagreeable. 
It  offers  a  grand  field  for  a  man  who  is  either  a  world  in 
himself,  or  who  can  have  his  own  world  about  him.  There 
are  very  few  enlightened  or  educated  men  here,  so  that  one 
might  want  society;  yet  any  man  who  unites  sense  to  educa- 
tion can  do  anything  he  pleases.     It  would  take  but  little 

First  Governor  of  Washington  Territory. 

to  induce  me  to  give  up  the  old  country  and  live  here,  but 
my  unhappy,  unsettled  disposition  is  always  in  the  way. 
Look  me  up  a  charming  young  woman,  who  has  no  objec- 
tion to  a  red  beard,  and  can  do  anything,  from  preaching 
to  dancing  the  polka,  from  making  a  cocktail  to  running  a 
steam  engine;  marry  her  by  proxy,  and  lock  her  up  till 
demand.  Boston  is  said  to  be  a  good  place,  and  so  look 
around  for  me  there.  If  I  return  this  summer,  it  will  be 
with  the  intention  of  coming  out  again  with  a  plan  formed 
on  my  knowledge  of  the  country  and  its  capabilities. 



"Take  care  of  Mother  and  the  girls,  and  begin  as  soon  as 
you  can  to  buy  desirable  bits  of  land  in  New  Haven.  I 
rely  much  upon  you  for  the  duties  which  a  man  at  home  can 

"Fort  Nisqually,  Puget  Sound,  July  23,  1853. 
"Dear  Mother:  —  I  am  still  on  the  move,  as  you  see. 
Who  knows  where  I  shall  stop?    My  last  was  from  Van- 
couver,   We  went  down  the  Columbia  that  morning  in  a 

Noted  Explorer  and   Hudson's  Bay  Factor  at  Fort  Vancouver. 

small  steamer,  which  deposited  us  among  blood-sucking 
mosquitoes  at  Monticello,  a  village  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Cowlitz  River.  Captain  Howard  and  I  took  possession  of 
the  room  of  the  H.  B.  Co.'s  resident,  and  were  glad  to  be 
awakened  at   midnight  by  Lieutenant   Trowbridge,*  who 

*William  P.  Trowbridge,  of  the  United  States  Engineers ;  afterwards 
professor  of  mathematics  at  the  University  of  Michigan  and  later  pro- 
fessor of  engineering  successively  at  Yale  and  Columbia. 


was  left  by  the  steamer,  and  came  down  in  a  rowboat.  He 
goes  up  to  make  tidal  observation  on  the  Sound.  Next  day 
we  went  up  the  Cowlitz,  thirty  miles  in  a  canoe,  with  four  In- 
dians to  paddle  or  pole.  The  stream  flows  through  forests 
thick  as  those  of  the  tropics,  and  buzzing  with  mosquitoes; 
the  forests  are  rich,  but  almost  gloomy  in  their  solitude; 
fir  trees  principally,  some  maples,  alders,  poplars,  and  other 
water-loving  trees.  Very  rapid  current,  and  progress 
something  like  two  miles  an  hour. 

"The  Indian  lodges  of  the  better  class  are  entirely  above 
ground,  built  of  boards,  and  with  a  small  oval  hole  to  squeeze 
through  for  a  door  in  the  gable  end;  dimensions,  about  20 
feet  by  12  feet  by  15  feet  (to  peak  of  roof).  They  are 
sometimes  fitted  up  with  bunks  like  a  ship;  mats,  baskets, 
pots,  pans,  etc.,  according  to  the  wealth  of  the  owner. 
Of  a  chief  here  you  would  perhaps  say  he  is  worth  so  many 
blankets;  they  hardly  go  as  high  as  horses  in  this  quarter. 
All  understand  the  Chinook  jargon,  the  most  comical  of  all 
languages,  in  which  I  am  becoming  expert.  Their  dress  is  a 
shabby  mixture  of  the  aboriginal  with  the  white. 

"At  the  Cowlitz  head  of  navigation,  we  spent  a  tedious 
next  day,  waiting  for  horses  until  evening,  when  we  rode  out 
to  Jackson's  prairies,  eight  miles.  We  passed  the  H.  B. 
Co.'s  beautiful  Cowlitz  farms,  rich  with  ripe  grain. 
Over  the  trees  that  belted  the  river,  nearer  than  ever 
rose  graceful  St.  Helens,  and  now  first  clearly  seen,  the  im- 
mense bulk  of  Rainier,  the  most  massive  of  all, —  grand, 
grand  above  the  plain!  Mr.  Jackson  is  an  old  settler,  and 
has  a  splendid  farm.  All  the  scanty  population  is  alive 
with  hopes  and  questions  about  the  great  Railroad  and  the 
exploring  parties.  Every  man  is  confident  it  must  come 
through  his  place.  Plenty  of  blackberries,  huckleberries, 
and  raspberries;  last  very  fine.  Indians  dry  many  for  food. 
Next  morning  rode  through  a  country  of  mixed  prairies  and 
timber  land, —  grand  forests  of  cedar  trees;  a  yew  tree  like 
the   English;   a  gigantic  tree  laurel,   evergreen.    Indians 


smoke  the  aromatic  leaves.  Prairies  are  still  rich  and  al- 
ready claimed  by  scanty  settlers;  dry  and  dusty. 

"Stop  and  noon  at  Ford's;  thence,  in  the  cool  of  the  hot- 
test of  days,  ride  till  midnight  by  moon,  fifty-two  miles  to 
Olympia.  Fom*  miles  from  Ford's  are  the  'Mound  Prairies,' 
spotted  with  small  round  mounds  —  at  first  just  distinguish- 
able, and  becoming  on  other  prairies  as  we  go  on  fifty  feet 
in  diameter,  and  ten  to  fifteen  feet  high,  covering  an  im- 
mense tract.  The  'Mound  Prairie'  is  marked  by  a  mound 
of  another  class,  fifty  feet  or  much  more  in  height,  almost 
perfectly  regular,  like  the  Marietta  mound,  with  some  large 
trees  upon  it.  A  Yankee  has  built  a  house  on  the  apex,  and 
intends  to  make  a  nursery  of  trees  on  its  fertile  sides. 

"About  11  p.  m.  the  sound  of  a  cascade  announced  our 
arrival  near  Olympia,  at  the  head  of  the  Sound.  We  could 
just  see  a  pretty  little  fall,  the  mills,  and  the  expanse  of  the 
great  inland  sea.  A  few  houses  make  Olympia  a  thriving 
lumbering  village,  cleared  from  the  woods,  with  stumps  in 
the  main  street.  Plenty  of  'Ostend'  oysters  and  large, 
queer  clams.*  Puget  Sound  terminates  here  in  a  point, 
spreading  below  to  a  great  lake  with  low  banks,  thick  with 
firs.  Tide  rises  nearly  twenty  feet,  water  clear;  but  low 
tide  leaves  a  great  mud  flat  below  the  place.    Stopped  there 

*The  native  oysters  of  the  Sound  are  small  and  not  unlike  in  flavor 
to  those  of  the  British  Channel,  which  Winthrop  has  in  mind.  They 
are  greatly  esteemed  by  epicures,  but  fashion  has  dictated  the  trans- 
planting of  seed  of  the  larger  eastern  oysters  from  the  Atlantic  coast 
beds.  These  ripen  perfectly,  but  do  not  propagate,  in  the  shallow  bays 
at  the  head  of  the  Sound  and  on  the  coast. 

The  clams  of  Puget  Sound  have  a  wide  reputation  for  their  abund- 
ance and  excellence.  The  "large,  queer  clams"  mentioned  by  Winthrop 
are  the  "geoducks,"  which  weigh  several  pounds,  and  are  edible. 

The  Puget  Sound  clam  was  the  subject  of  a  celebrated  bon  mot  by 
the  late  Francis  W.  Cushman,  of  Tacoma,  representative  in  Congress 
and  the  wit  of  the  lower  house.  Cushman  was  a  Republican,  and  his 
best  speeches  were  in  support  of  the  tariff.  "Our  friends  the  enemy," 
he  said  in  one  of  these,  "are  welcome,  if  they  wish,  to  return  to  the  lean 
panic  years  of  the  Nineties;  but  as  for  me  and  my  constituents,  we  want 
no  more  hard  times.  We  remember  too  well  those  sad  years  on  Puget 
Sound,  where  we  had  nothing  to  live  upon  but  clams.  When  the  tide 
was  out  the  table  was  spread.  We  dug  clams,  and  ate  clams,  till  our 
stomachs  rose  and  fell  with  the  tide!" 



a  day.  Next  morning  Trowbridge  and  I,  leaving  Captain 
Howard  to  bring  up  the  traps,  started  in  a  noble  clipper  of 
a  canoe*  for  Steilacoom,  the  United  States  fort.  Paddled 
along  against  the  tide.  Indians  took  it  easy;  shot  a  duck 
and  a  polecat;  pulled  up  a  gigantic  purple  starfish;  made  a 
vocabulary  of  the  Snooquamish  language.  Had  a  jolly 
time.  Splendid  sheet  of  water,  with  islands  and  nooks  of 
bays.  Mt.  Rainier  hung  up  in  the  air.  Landed  9  p.  m.; 
walked   two  miles  through   the  woods   to  the    barracks; 

Olympia  in  the  Sixties. 

waked  officers;  supper,  and  to  bed.  Barracks  in  a  dry,  bar- 
ren plain;  scanty  trees.  To-day  walked  over  to  Fort  Nis- 
qually  —  a  Hudson's  Bay  Company  farm  and  station. 
Dr.  Tolmie,  in  charge,  going  to  Vancouver  Island  to-morrow, 
invited  me  to  go;  probably  shall,  and  perhaps  join  the  other 
party  there. 

♦What  Winthrop  means  by  "a  noble  clipper  of  a  canoe"  is  made 
plain  by  an  existing  manuscript,  written  by  Edward  Huggins,  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  factor,  and  entitled:  "A  Perilous  Canoe  Trip  from  Fort 
Nisqually  to  Alki  Point,  in  1852."  This  document,  indeed,  describes 
the  very  canoe  in  which  Winthrop  journeyed  with  Dr.  Tolmie  to  Vic- 


"These  disjointed  words  have  been  by  violent  efforts 
written  in  a  small  house  where  the  thermometer  is  at  90°." 

"Victoria,  Vancouver  Island,  Aug.  15th. 
"Dear  Mother: —  I  can  hardly  represent  to  myself  the 
summer  life  at  home,  the  dusty  streets,  quenched  by  an  oc- 
casional shower,  to  the  joy  of  the  party  assembled  in  the 
porch,  just  out  of  reach  of  the  sprinkles;  the  delicious  even- 
ings, just  cool  enough  to  restore  after  the  sultriness  of  the 
glaring  day,  with  open  windows  and  music,  or  a  moonlight 
walk;  the  crush  of  Commencement;  the  after  calm.     To  me 

toria.    It  was  a  dug-out,  large  enough  to  carry  three  tons  of  cargo  and 
eight  men,  and  stanch  enough  to  ride  out  a  severe  March  gale. 

Mr.  Huggins's  narrative  recalls  the  magnificent  distances  between 
settlements,  when  the  villagers  of  Alki  (now  part  of  Seattle)  had  to  send 
thirty  miles  for  supplies.  He  relates  that  early  in  March,  1852,  word 
was  brought  to  Nisqually  that  Messrs.  Denny,  Maynard,  Bell,  Terry, 
and  Lowe  had  established  themselves  at  Alki  Point,  and  were  in  need  of 
provisions.  Dr.  Tolmie  agreed  to  sell  them  a  hundred  bushels  of  pota- 
toes  at   a   dollar   per  bushel. 

"I  was  directed,"  says  Mr.  Huggins,  "to  convey  these  vegetables 
in  our  large  mail  canoe,  to  their  destination.  The  canoe  had  been  obtained 
from  northern  Indians,  Haidas,  I  think,  who  lived  on  Queen  Charlotte 
and  adjacent  islands.  It  had  been  a  war  canoe.  We  used  it  to  convey 
passengers  and  mail  between  Nisqually  and  Victoria.  Sometimes  these 
passages  would  occupy  as  long  as  eight  days,  since  no  attempt  would  be 
made  to  cross  the  Straits  during  the  blowing  of  a  stiff  wind.  Mrs. 
Huggins  once  made  a  trip  in  this  canoe  in  1853  with  Theodore  Winthrop, 
the  celebrated  author  and  soldier." 

The  remainder  of  the  manuscript  is  given  to  an  account  of  this 
adventurous  trip  down  the  Sound,  in  the  face  of  a  storm. 

Supplementing  Mr.  Huggins's  reminiscences,  the  following  para- 
graphs from  Pioneer  Days  on  Puget  Sound,  by  Arthur  A.  Denny,  founder 
of  Seattle,  further  indicate  the  importance  of  the  canoe  to  the  existence 
of  the  first  settlements: 

"We  obtained  our  mail  from  Olympia,  the  nearest  postofiice,  by  a 
canoe  express,  for  which  service  we  hired     *     *     *     to  make  weekly 
trips  between  Seattle  and  Olympia.    All  were  required  to  pay  twenty- 
five  cents  a  letter,  and  nearly  all  subscribed  something  in  addition  to 
support  the  express.     *     *     * 

"We  travelled  almost  entirely  by  canoe,  and  never  expected  to  make 
the  trip  from  Seattle  to  Olympia  in  less  than  two  days.  In  the  Winter, 
I  have  frequently  been  three  days,  and  camped  on  the  beach  at  night. 
In  after  years,  I  paid  as  high  as  ten  dollars  steamer  fare  to  Olympia, 
and  when  it  got  down  to  six  dollars  we  thought  it  very  reasonable. 
It  always  cost  me  more  than  that  amount  by  canoe,  when  travelling 
alone  with  an  Indian  crew." 


a  year  passed  without  a  winter  seems  to  have  no  right  to 
a  summer,  and  I  am  hardly  conscious  of  its  having  come  and 
gone.  The  weather  here  just  now  is  like  a  New  England 
October,  the  days  warm  and  cloudless,  but  the  nights  so 
cool  that  two  blankets  do  not  come  amiss,  A  heavy  smoke 
from  the  burning  woods  casts  a  haze  over  everything,  as 
in  our  Indian  summer.  The  arm  of  the  sea  upon  which 
Victoria  is  looks  beautiful  in  the  sunny  afternoon,  with  the 
smoke  just  obscuring  the  rocky,  too  barren  shores,  and  veil- 
ing the  white  houses  of  the  village. 

"Since  I  last  wrote,  I  have,  besides  cruising  about  the 
island,  taken  a  trip  over  to  the  American  shore  to  the  coal 
mines  on  Bellingham  Bay, —  Captain  Howard's  coal  mines. 
I  took  a  large  clipper  canoe,  and  five  Indians  with  one 
wife,  provisions,  etc.,  and  started  one  fresh  blowing  morning, 
when  they  thought  it  something  of  a  risk  to  go.  It  looked 
squally  at  first,  but  I  soon  got  confidence  in  my  vessel, 
which  went  nobly  over  the  heavy  swells,  just  on  the  safe 
side  of  danger, —  the  Indians  highly  excited  as  the  seas 
struck  her.  We  crossed  a  somewhat  dreaded  traverse  be- 
tween this  and  a  neighboring  island,  and  then  gently  glided 
along  among  the  small  islands  of  the  archipelago.  Every- 
where the  Indians  were  salmon  fishing,  sometimes  with  a 
small  flat  net,  extended  between  two  large  canoes,  and  some- 
times singly,  in  great  fleets  of  little  canoes,  trolling  with  the 
line  fastened  to  a  paddle.  My  Indians  were  of  the  Nook 
Lummi  tribe,  and  were  in  good  spirits,  as  they  were  going 
to  visit  their  friends.*  Like  all  on  this  coast,  they  were  a 
careless,  jolly,  happy  race,  amusing  themselves  with  jokes 
and  me  with  songs,  some  of  which  were  pretty  and  original. 

*Winthrop,  who  spent  some  days  among  this  tribe  at  Bellingham 
Bay  and  Fraser  River,  uses  two  forms  for  their  tribal  names:  "Nooh 
Lummi"  and  "Nook  Lummi.  The  former,  as  Dr.  C.  M.  Buchanan 
informs  me,  "is  the  Lummi  way  for  Lummi."  But  the  Indians  south  of 
the  Lummis  are  of  different  linguistic  stock,  and  when  they  attempted 
to  reproduce  the  'Nooh-Lummi,'  the  strongly  aspirated  'h-h'  evolved 
into  an  interference  sound.  Winthrop  was  correct  in  using  both  forms, 
but  he  heard  one  among  the  Lummis  and  one  among  their  neighbors." 








•-  1 

Q   2 

z  ^ 


I  tried  to  write  down  the  notes  of  one,  and  on  laying  down 
my  paper,  one  of  them,  with  a  quizzical  face,  pretended  to 
be  able  to  sing  it,  the  rest  roaring  with  laughter.  We 
sailed  and  paddled  by  turns,  getting  on  pretty  well,  though 
impulsively,  for  if  one  stopped  to  speak  or  light  his  pipe,  all 
stopped;  and  the  canoe  naturally  followed  their  example. 

"Toward  evening  we  landed  in  a  deep,  quiet,  solitary, 
tarn-like  cove,  walled  in  by  rocks  and  overhung  by  great 
pine  trees.  As  the  canoe  entered,  thousands  of  ducks  rose 
from  the  water,  and  flew  screaming  about;  but  the  door 
was  shut  by  the  canoe;  when  we  fired,  the  whole  place  was 
alive  with  echoes.  As  we  landed,  a  young  Indian  stepped 
on  the  cover  of  a  box  to  jump  ashore,  and  spHt  it;  whereupon 
the  owner  of  the  box  and  he  became  'silex,'  or  in  the  sulks; 
the  former  wrapped  himself  up  in  his  blanket  toga,  as  the 
dying  Caesar  might  have  done,  and  lying  down  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  boat,  refused  to  be  comforted;  neither  of  them 
would  eat  anything,  like  a  pair  of  pouting  children.  After 
a  while  they  relaxed,  and  were  very  glad  to  get  some  prog 
the  others  had  put  away  for  them.  It  was  a  capital  evening, 
and  my  kibobs  of  fresh  mutton  relished  amazingly.  Then 
in  the  dim  evening  and  by  the  starlight  we  floated  on,  some 
paddling  and  some  sleeping;  and  made  the  destined  shore 
about  midnight.  Next  morning  I  found  that  by  some  mis- 
understanding we  had  come  to  the  wrong  part  of  the  Bay, — 
rather,  were  not  in  the  Bay  at  all.  Our  course  then  was  in- 
land, up  a  good-sized  river,  thickly  shrouded  with  almost 
tropical  vegetation.  Presently  we  came  to  an  Indian 
salmon  weir,  a  high  framework  of  poles  reaching  across  the 
stream,  and  serving  also  as  a  light  foot-bridge.  At  inter- 
vals, wicker-work  shields  are  suspended  in  the  water,  and 
just  against  them,  baskets,  like  a  lobster  pot;  the  salmon, 
rushing  up  stream,  is  met  by  the  shield,  and  turning,  falls 
into  the  pot.  This  fishery  belonged  to  one  of  my  men,  and 
as  we  came,  an  Indian  was  just  taking  a  noble  salmon  out; 
we  accepted  the  invitation  to  breakfast,  and  such  a  kettle 


of  fish!  of  which  a  mighty  portion  was  first  served  out  to 
me,  sitting  in  state  on  a  mat-covered  dais,  in  a  hut  neither 
clean  nor  well  ventilated.     Hurrah  for  savage  life! 

"P.  S. —  I  close  this  August  22nd,  at  Nisqually,  returned 
from  below,  and  regretting  that  I  cannot  catch  the  mail  with 
a  complete  letter." 

A  bill  for  Winthrop's  purchases  from  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  at 
Fort  Nisqually,—  blankets  for  the  Duke  of  York,  Olyman  Siwash, 
and  the  Fishy,  and  supplies  for  his  Cascade  trip: 

6    Pin  Blankets  2M  pts.  BMB   $18.00 

Yi  yd.  Appleton  Sheeting 10 

6     Tongues 1 .  50 

Rope 50 

1  Pack   Saddle 5.00 

2  Loaves  Bread 1 .  00 

Paid   Indian 1 .  00 

Expenses  of  sending  for  Indian  (guide) 3 .  00 

Fort  Nisqually,  Aug.  23rd,  1853.  $30.10 

Rec'd   payment 

Edward  Huggins 

^  yd  bag  &  cord $1 .  00 

Flannel  shirt 2 .  00 

Cotton  do 1 .  00 

Thread 12 

Socks 75 

"Dalles,  Aug.  31,  1853. 

"My  dear  Mother: —  I  arrived  here  to-day  across  the 
mountains  from  Nisqually,  after  an  adventurous  and  rather 
arduous  journey  of  seven  days,  in  the  course  of  which  I  was 
pretty  much  thrown  on  my  own  resources,  my  Indian  guide 
having  left  me  to  shift  for  myself  in  the  middle  of  a  great 
prairie.  I  have  no  time  to  give  a  full  account.  I  start 
to-morrow  for  the  Salt  Lake,  with  the  mail  carrier,  and  shall 
leave  there  October  1st  for  home,  likewise  with  the  mail. 
Write  me  to  St.  Louis,  so  that  I  will  have  news  on  my  ar- 
rival.   No  false  start  this  time  I  hope  ! 

"I  am  in  much  haste  to  make  my  preparations  for  the 
morrow.  Captain  Brent  has  just  returned,  and  gives  me 
an  excellent  account  of  his  trip." 



Two  memorandum  books  survive,  partly  filled  with  notes  which 
Theodore  Winthrop  made  during  his  stay  in  Oregon  and  Washington. 
The  first  begins  with  some  notes  regarding  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia 
River,  and  substantially  repeating  the  letter  to  his  mother  of  April 
29.  The  rest  of  the  matter  in  this  book  is  comprised  of  a  detailed  ac- 
count of  his  trip  from  Fort  Vancouver  to  The  Dalles,  where  he  was 
stricken  with  smallpox.     This  account  follows: 

"Fort  Vancouver,  May  9. —  Left  the  Bank  at  10:45  a.  m. 
in  the  Multnomah.  Fitzwilham  remained  behind  for 
the  Allan.  For  a  couple  of  hours  the  banks  continue  low 
and  wooded,  as  about  Vancouver.  We  pass  some  wooded 
islands,  come  into  a  lake-like  expanse  of  the  river,  above 
which  the  mountains  close  up  the  view.  Mt.  Hood  becomes 
more  distinct,  though  the  lower  part  of  it  is  shut  off  more  by 
the  hills.  The  southern  snow  slope  is  much  smoother  than  the 
north, —  broken  only  once  by  a  crest  of  rock;  the  northern 
slope  is  much  varied.  The  day  is  splendid;  the  wind  up 
stream;  and  steamer  making  six  or  seven  miles  an  hour. 
The  hills  gradually  draw  up  and  hide  the  summit  of  Mt. 
Hood,  and  presently  descend  steep  into  the  river  with  no 
valley.  Little  Cape  Horn  is  a  remarkable  precipice  of 
basalt,  sheer  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  then  with  a 
slope,  and  up  three  hundred  more;  the  basaltic  structure 
strongly  marked,  especially  at  the  water.  Cascades  on 
both  sides  the  river.  The  mountains  close  the  end  of  the 
river  finely,  but  are  bare  except  of  fire-killed  stalks  of  fir. 
Canoes  float  down  the  long  bows  like  clipper  ships.     A 


beautiful  cascade  falls  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  down  a 
wall  of  rock  into  a  wild  chasm  with  pines. 

"The  mountains  now  leave  the  right  bank  a  little;  on  the 
left  they  continue  wild  and  sterile.  Many  cascades.  All 
trap,  precipitous  above,  debris  below.  On  the  right  bank, 
a  remarkable  truncated  cone  sprinkled  with  trap  called 
Castle  Rock.  Here  the  sweep  of  the  river  is  very  fine. 
Castle  Rock  has  a  strongly  marked  crystalization.  On 
the  up  side  is  a  remarkable  face  with  Roman  nose. 

"At  the  Cascades.  —  The  salmon  fishery  has  fairly  be- 
gun, and  thousands  of  fish  are  hanging  up  to  dry  on  all  the 
Indian  huts.  Boys,  men,  and  women  carry  four  or  five  on 
their  backs;  an  Indian  horseman  has  two  big  ones  slung  by 
the  head  behind  the  saddle,  with  tails  tied  together. 

"About  4  p.  m.  we  arrived  at  the  lower  landing,  and  soon 
the  stuff  was  out  of  the  steamer  and  the  tents  pitched. 
We  stopped  aboard  the  boat  and  had  a  jolly  time.  The  spot 
was  a  lovely  one,  a  meadow  where  the  bold  and  picturesque 
trap  cliffs  on  that  side  of  the  river  retire;  opposite,  high, 
bold  mountains,  one  nearly  3,000  feet.  At  evening,  the 
advancing  and  retreating  outlines  of  the  mountains  on  the 
left,  coming  almost  precipitously  down,  were  very  striking. 
Castle  Rock  stands  up  in  the  center  of  the  valley  like  a  feudal 
tower,  which  it  would  have  been  the  site  of,  on  the  Rhine  or 
Danube.  The  trap  cliff  above  shows  a  fine  pyramidal 
structure  with  the  front  fallen  off,*  as  does  one  above,  from 
the  front  of  which  projects  another  small  pyramid.  The 
river  rushing  and  roaring  by,  the  lofty  mountain,  the  dark 
pine,  the  bare  sticks,  the  soft  meadow,  the  cottonwood  trees 
and  shrubs,  even  the  factory  house  behind  the  log  house, 

*The  upper  cliflf  referred  to  here  is  doubtless  what  is  now  known  as 
the  North  Abutment  of  the  "Bridge  of  the  Gods."  The  range  here 
cut  by  the  Columbia  ends  abruptly  in  Table  Mountain,  rising  4,100 
feet  above  sea  level.  This  is  fabled  in  Indian  legend  as  part  of  the  great 
natural  bridge  which  the  natives  believe  once  spanned  the  river,  and  the 
destruction  of  which  by  the  angry  Tyhee  Saghalie,  chief  of  the  gods, 
dammed  the  stream  at  the  Cascades. 


the  tents  and  soldiers,  and  the  splendid  sky  and  sunset, 
made  a  glorious  scene.  Just  at  this  spot  the  river  is  narrowed 
to  perhaps  half  a  mile,  and  is  not  unlike  some  parts  of  the 
Susquehannah  and  Danube.  The  bank  is  grassy,  and  at 
this  stage  of  water  about  fifteen  feet  high.  Below,  the 
shore  is  a  beach  covered  with  stone.  Here  was  an  Indian 
lodge  and  a  couple  of  their  beautiful  canoes  with  the  pro- 
jecting bow  and  shells  inserted;  sticks  stretched  across. 
The  captain  of  the  Multnomah,  being  a  trump,  gave  us  first- 
rate  fare;  and  I  got  a  piece  of  beef  and  soft  bread,  which 
served  us  nicely. 

"May  10. —  Early  in  the  morning  I  walked  over  with 
Captain  Brent  to  Mr.  Chenoweth's,  about  two  miles  along 
the  bank  of  the  river.*  He  made  better  arrangements 
about  the  transport  of  the  stuff  of  the  troops,  and  I  went  on 
with  him  to  an  Indian  village  beyond  to  get  men.  He  has 
a  nice  house  and  site,  with  a  delicious  spring  of  water 
under  the  bank  a  short  distance  off.  Here  the  river  foams 
round  large  rocks.  The  road  thus  far  is  good  enough,  but 
beyond  there  are  steep  and  bad  places,  but  nothing  impassable. 
Back  in  one  very  retired  and  thickly  wooded  spot,  where  there 
are  forest  trees  besides  pine;  a  sort  of  cemetery  with  a  struc- 
ture of  boards  is  rude  but  interesting  as  a  relic;  a  crudely 
carved  idol  upon  one  side.  At  the  terminus  of  the  board 
railway  there  are  some  picturesque  crags  of  broken  trap. 

*Francis  A.  Chenoweth,  who  in  1850  settled  with  several  friends 
on  the  north  bank  of  the  Columbia  at  the  lower  Cascades.  Cheno- 
weth was  a  man  of  parts  and  worth.  He  was  speaker  of  the  first  legis- 
lature of  Washington  Territory,  and  later  one  of  the  territorial  justices. 
In  1851,  he  and  his  associates  built  the  first  portage  tramway  at  the 
Cascades,  a  frail  affair  consisting  of  wooden  rails  laid  on  planks,  with 
an  equipment  of  rolling  stock  totalling  one  small  car  and  two  mules. 
This  primitive  railway  is  remembered  by  many  persons  still  living, 
whom  it  assisted  to  reach  their  future  homes.  Among  these  is  Mr. 
Clarence  B.  Bagley,  of  Seattle,  who  came  west  with  his  parents  in  1852. 
Mr.  Bagley  tells  me  that  after  their  lares  and  penates  had  been  carried 
over  the  four-mile  tramway,  the  family  travelled  on  down  the  river 
with  Chenoweth  in  a  scow  which  he  operated  for  the  conveyance  of 
new  settlers,  who  were  then  pouring  into  the  lower  Columbia  Valley 
in  great  numbers. 


The  rail  goes  through  thick  woods  to  an  open  spot  on  a  hill, 
where  are  the  lodges  of  an  Indian  village  filled  with  salmon, 
fresh  and  dry,  decorating  them  with  red  tapestry.  Indians 
lie  about,  hardly  alive,  their  long  black  hair  daubed  in  grease. 

"Returning,  I  went  back  to  the  landing;  and  about  2  p.  m., 
after  a  dispute  with  Sandy,  who  refused  the  boat  to  Mr. 
Chenoweth's  Indians,  we  got  them  off  in  two  boats.  They 
shot  the  first  rapid  finely  and  we  marched  along.  At 
Chenoweth's,  I  turned  off  to  find  a  duck  pond.  After  wan- 
dering a  little  in  the  pines,  I  came  to  the  big  black  swampy 
pool;  saw  a  few  ducks,  and  fired  once,  but  out  of  range. 
The  chain  of  trap  crags  with  broken  precipitous  fronts  here 
on  the  right  bank  is  grand.  Our  heavy  boats  had  a  hard 
tug  up,  but  arrived  at  the  railroad  about  6: 30,  and  we  spent 
the  night  in  Mr.  Jones's  house,  a  wild  spot  among  the  rocks. 
Salmon  were  plenty,  and  after  supper  we  turned  in  on  the 
floor.  On  account  of  the  gorge  of  the  mountain,  the  winds 
draw  through  uniformly  up  or  down  stream.  There  are 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  of  the  Cascade  Indians.  Slavery 
exists  among  them  in  an  easy  form. 

"Wednesday  May  11.  —  The  transportation  of  anything 
is  difficult  here,  but  particularly  of  so  much  stuff  as  we  were 
obliged  to  have.  They  commenced  about  nine  o'clock  on 
the  railroad,  and  made  five  trips,  a  distance  of  one  and  one 
quarter  miles.  The  railroad  is  a  convenient  but  simple 
affair,  a  roadway  of  two  boards  with  a  square  rail  on  each 
side.  There  was  only  one  small  car  dragged  by  two  mules 
and  held  back  by  one  man.*  We  sent  likewise  two  loads 
with  ten  oxen  over  the  highway,  which  is  bad.  Just  at  this 
spot,  you  command  a  fine  sweep  down  the  river  and  the 

*While  we  are  with  Winthrop  at  the  Cascades,  it  is  interesting  to 
recall  that  out  of  the  feeble  tramway  and  Chenoweth's  scow  grew  the 
great  transportation  system  of  the  Columbia.  Chenoweth  and  his 
friends,  after  the  Indian  wars  in  the  Fifties,  purchased  two  small  steam- 
boats. On  the  south  side  of  the  river,  a  rival  company  built  a  second 
tramway,  also  operating  a  steamer  in  connection  with  it.  Competi- 
tion continued  until,  in  1859,  J.  C.  Ainsworth,  then  a  steamboat  cap- 
tain,  consolidated  the  two  concerns  into  the  Union  Transportation 

Chief  of  Indian  Police,  Umatilla  Reservation. 


rapid  current.  Mr.  Jones's  house  is  among  the  rocks  and 
pines,  rough  and  romantic.  He  came  from  Indiana  last 
year.  His  wife  does  not  like  being  so  far  away,  but  finds 
it  healthy.  We  all  walked  over  to  the  houses  above  the 
portage.  Just  at  the  swiftest  part  of  the  principal  rapid 
the  Indians  were  fishing  on  a  rude  platform  or  staging, 
such  as  I  had  seen  below.  One  man  stands  out  on  a  board 
across  the  swiftest  part  they  can  reach,  just  below  a  plunge, 
and  with  a  dip  net  attached  to  a  long  pole  thrusts  it  down 
as  deep  as  he  can,  beginning  up  stream  and  pushing  down. 
In  the  course  of  fifteen  minutes  we  saw  five  large  salmon 
caught,  killed  by  a  couple  of  hard  raps  over  the  noddle  while 
they  were  entangled  in  the  net,  and  taken  ashore  by  sluggish 
fellows  in  waiting.  The  largest  thus  far  may  weigh  fifty 
pounds.  It  is  a  simple  but  sure  way  of  taking  them.  They 
save  all  possible  parts  and  the  huts  were  filled  with  dried, 
and  drying  ones,  richly  colored.  Perhaps  this  exclusive  fish 
diet  is  one  thing  that  causes  the  race  to  dwindle.    This  vil- 

Company,  which  was  soon  enlarged  under  the  name  Oregon  Steam 
Navigation  Company,  to  embrace  all  the  steamboat  interests  from 
Celilo  to  Astoria,  with  property  in  boats  and  docks  appraised  at  $172,500. 
No  assessment  was  ever  levied  on  the  stockholders  of  this  well-organized 
monoply,  who  within  a  few  years  divided  more  than  $2,500,000  in  pro- 
fits,' after  expending  a  still  larger  sum  from  the  proceeds  in  developing 
their  property. 

From  this  promising  beginning,  thanks  to  gold  discoveries  in  Idaho 
and  the  rush  of  miners,  cowboys  and  adventurers  to  the  "Inland  Empire," 
grew  some  celebrated  western  fortunes.  Absorbing  the  tramways,  the 
company  built  two  portage  railroads,  one  around  the  Cascades  on  the 
north  bank  of  the  Columbia,  the  other  from  The  Dalles  eastward  around 
Celilo  Falls;  and  in  spite  of  some  competition,  reaped  vast  returns  during 
the  great  era  of  steamboating.  The  river  was  alive  with  steamers,  which 
seldom  carried  fewer  than  two  hundred  passengers,  while  receipts  from 
passengers  and  freight  often  ran  to  fifteen  or  eighteen  thousand  dollars 
for  a  single  trip  between  Celilo  and  the  head  of  navigation  on  the  Snake. 
From  Portland  to  Lewiston  the  fare  was  $60,  meals  and  berths  extra. 
The  journey  was  made  in  three  steamers  and  over  the  two  railways, 
and  occupied  three  or  four  days. 

The  Oregon  Navigation  Company  was  bought  in  1879  by  Henry 
Villard  and  his  associates  for  $5,000,000.  The  Oregon  Railroad  and 
Navigation  Company,  organized  by  them,  built  a  railway  along  the 
south  bank,  abandoning  the  famous  portage  road  on  the  north  side, 
the  route  of  which  is  now  traversed  by  the  Spokane,  Portland  and  Seat- 
tle Railway.      See  Lyman:  The  Columbia  River,  2S1S. 



lage  was  in  a  charming  spot,  with  a  little  pond  back  of  it; 
there  were  six  or  eight  houses.  Just  as  we  were  taking  sup- 
per in  the  large  upper  room  of  the  store  Fitzwilliam  arrived. 
"Saturday,  May  14. —  We  left  camp  at  5:45.  Showery 
and  blowing  fresh.    Arrived  at  the  Dalles,  9  p.  m. 

Middle  Blockhouse  at  the  Cascades  of  the  Columbia. 
Built  by  Captain  Henry  C.  Hodges  in  1855. 

Here  the  entries  in  the  first  memorandum  book  cease,  owing  to  the 
writer's  illness;  and  we  have  nothing  further  in  the  way  of  a  diary  until 
August,  when  Winthrop  resumes  his  notes  in  a  small  buckskin-covered 
book,  which  he  seems  to  have  carried  with  him  throughout  the  remainder 
of  his  stay  in  the  West.  Save  for  a  break  of  eight  days  at  Salt  Lake,  the 
notes  in  this  volume  are  continuous  till  after  he  had  passed  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  on  his  way  home.  These  notes  were  hastily  written  with 
a  pencil,  in  a  minute  hand,  and  are  now  occasionally  undecipherable. 
Often  they  are  fragmentary, —  mere  scraps  of  information  picked  up 
from  whites  or  Indians,  bits  of  native  lore,  words  from  the  different 
Indian  languages,  facts  about  the  development  of  the  country,  prices 
of  town  lots  in  the  new  paper  cities,  and  fragments  of  Chinook  jargon. 


Here  we  meet  Hamitchou,  the  Nisqually  medicine-man,  and  from 
him  get  an  outline  of  the  Hiaqua  Myth,  told  at  length  in  Chapter  Seven 
of  "The  Canoe  and  The  Saddle."  Much  other  matter  illuminating  and 
supplementing  the  book  is  set  down.  The  notes  made  on  his  homeward 
trip,  between  The  Dalles  and  Salt  Lake,  vividly  picture  a  portion  of 
what  was  then  called  "the  Great  American  Desert,"  but  now,  with 
railways  and  irrigation,  is  fast  becoming  rich  and  populous.  Daily 
he  meets  caravans  of  immigrants,  some  of  which  are  to  traverse  his 
recent  route  over  the  Naches  Pass. 

"Victoria,  Vancouver  Island,  August  4,  1853: — A  good 
motto  from  Martial:  Hominem  pagina  nostra  sapit, — 'our 
page  has  a  flavor  of  mankind.' 

"Town  lots  of  66x132  feet  sell  at  $50,  and  in  undesirable 
location  larger  at  same  price.  Seventy-seven  town  lots 

"Indians  of  the  North  —  divide.  Little  difference  be- 
tween children  of  nature  and  slaves  of  civilization.  Ham- 
itchou told  me  he  was  hyas  tyee  of  our  crew,  'Mastou'  and 
'Unstou'  or  'Hahal'  (the  handsome).*  Hahal  thinks  that 
good  men  when  they  die  go  nobody  knows  where,  and  are 
happy;  but  the  bad,  disembodied,  are  forced  to  haunt  their 
old  abodes,  and  with  the  same  appetites  as  during  life. 
They  prowl  about  camps,  while  others  are  asleep,  stealing 
the  fragrance  of  food.  Each  of  these  Indians  has  his  daimon, 
guardian  spirit,  called  'tamanoiis' —  one  or  more  different 
animals,  or  objects  in  nature,  trees,  etc.  A-Wy  said  salmon 
was  his  tamanoiis  because  it  made  him  sick  one  evening. 
"Chinook  jargon  contains  many  words  of  the  Nootka  Sound 
Indians,  and  probably  existed  before  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany. Vancouver  found  it  already  spoken.  Wives  are 
worth  all  along  ten  blankets,  and  then  friends  steal  and  re- 
sell the  blankets.  The  old  fellow's  wife  has  gone  off;  now 
he  wants  his  blankets  back.f 

*"  'Halhal'  is  probably  the  plural  form  of  the  Indian  word  for  good, 

—  meaning  'good-good,'  or  very  good  (either  in  looks  or  otherwise)." 

—  Dr.  C.  M.  Buchanan. 

tEast  of  the  Cascades,  the  Indians  were  horsemen,  and  their  wealth 
consisted  chiefly  of  horses.    But  on  the  Sound,  where  horses  were  few, 


"Dr.  Tolmie  told  the  Indians  at  Squally  that  I  wanted 
to  go  up  Mt.  Rainier  to  see  Tamanous  (as  Moses  and  other 
seers  did).  There  was  a  peculiar  kind  of  shell  money  which 
they  say  (Cook  or)  Vancouver  brought  to  the  country.  A 
wise  old  man,  who  killed  many  elk,  made  a  sort  of  pick  of 
their  horns  and  went  to  the  top  of  a  high  mountain  to  find 
some  of  this  money,  which  Tamanous  gave  him  to  under- 
stand was  there.  He  arrived  at  the  top  and  found  a  great 
lake  with  much  otter,  but  giving  no  thought  to  these  he  set 
himself  to  digging  this  wampum  or  hiaqua.  He  dug  twenty 
strings  of  it  and  started  down  the  mountain,  a  rich  man. 
(But  riches  take  to  themselves  wings,  etc.)  On  his  way 
down,  he  was  overtaken  by  a  violent  snow-storm,  and  was 
in  danger  of  death.  To  propitiate  the  tamanous,  angry,  he 
threw  away  one  string  after  the  other  (the  Indian  described 
this  with  action),  but  the  storm  did  not  abate  until  he  had 
cast  away  the  very  last.  He  then  returned  sadder  and 
wiser,  sure  that  the  tamanoiis  of  the  mountain  did  not  wish 
his  hoards  to  be  taken.  Work  up  artistically.*  The  su- 
perior civilization  and  rum  of  the  whites  makes  these  mild 
savages  their  satellites.  Mt.  Rainier  and  some  of  the  other 
snow  peaks  are  called  Tacoma'  by  the  Indians,  f  A  large 
body  of  water,  as  the  Sound,  is  called  'Whulge';  its  inhabi- 
tants, Whulgeamish.  Our  crew  names:  1.  'Unstou'  or 
'Hahal';  2.  'Mastou,'  or  La  Hache;  3.  Khaadza;  4.  Sna- 
whay-lal;  5.  A-A-whun,  short  A-wy;  6.  Ai-tu-so,  a  Haida; 
7.  Nackatzout,  a  Luckibo  or  wolf,  Haida;  8.  Paicks.  Women: 

the  poorer  siwashes  counted  their  wealth  by  blankets.  In  each  district, 
the  price  of  wives  was  figured  in  the  common  medium  of  exchange.  See 
pp.  205  and  260. 

*It  is  thus  apparent  that  Winthrop  was  planning  a  book  about 
the  West,  when  he  wrote  down  this  outline  of  the  Hiaqua  Myth,  which 
he  later  "worked  up  artistically"  in  Chapter  VII.  of  "Canoe  and  Saddle." 

fSnowden's  inference  that  Winthrop  learned  the  Indian  name  for 
the  mountain  from  his  guide,  Loolowcan,  is  evidently  incorrect,  as  it 
here  appears  that  he  had  heard  the  word  in  use  among  the  Indians  on 
the  Sound,  before  he  met  the  frowzy  son  of  Owhi. 


1.  Tlai-whal;  2.  Smoikit-um-whal  (Smoikit  meaning  chief); 
Sudzilaimoot,  term  of  reproach. 

"Dual:  Nitika,  we  two;  Mitika,  you  two,  Cascade 
language.  Chillewhaletin  is  a  chief's  name;  Skai-ki,  the 
blue  jay;  Entoia,  my  love  or  true  friend,  Haida.  Chill- 
hailam,  a  dangerous  savage  chief.  We  camped  on  Whid- 
bey's  Island  at  Sch-itl-sch-itl  or  Burnt  Elder  Leaves.  Kin- 
slai,  how  d'ye  do?  Haida.  Wow-we-allah,  name  of  chief. 
Kut-kidd-mantz,  Haida.  Nikitz,  not.  Nikitz-aam,  not 
good.  Naas,  long.  Soolila,  Cowalitsh  for  push  on,  make 
haste.     Haida,  general  name  for  all  the  northern  tribes. 

"Tribes  on  the  west  side  of  the  Sound:  1.  Stichasamish 
(at  Olympia);  2.  Lehawamish;  3.  Laughsnamish ;  4.  S'hotle- 
mamish;  5,  S'homamish. 

"East  side  (Whulgeamish):  1.  Squallyamish ;  2.  Puyal- 
lopamish;  3.  Pachnawamish  (or  vulg.  Dinsamish);  4.  Sin- 
ahomish;  5.  S'kywamish;  6.  Snoquallymeuwh;  7.  Skagit 
(Whidbey);  8.  Kikkyaloose;  9.  Swlaguamish;  10.  Nuatel- 
amish;  11.  Nooh-Lummie.* 

"The  Indians  troll  for  salmon,  fastening  the  line  to  the 
paddle.  Near  the  point  where  we  stopped,  or  Kowitchin 
village,  Doctor  vaccinated  and  got  Kamas  from  Hahal's 
mother.  We  saw  a  regatta-like  assemblage  of  canoes  troll- 
ing for  salmon, 

"Dr.  Toimie's  first  legend. —  Once  upon  a  time  there  were 
five  brothers,  whose  father  was  dead;  four  being  fine  grown 
men,  the  fifth  younger.  In  some  way  they  had  excited  the 
displeasure  of  a  sorcerer,  who  determined  upon  revenge. 
Knowing  that  they  were  going  seal  fishing,  he  made  a  seal 
of  cedar  wood,  enchanted  it,  and  placed  it  upon  a  rock  near 
where  they  would  fish.    The  first  brother  threw  his  spear 

*Dr.  Buchanan  has  furnished  me  with  the  following,  as  being  the  now 
generally  accepted  forms  for  some  of  the  tribal  names  at  which  Winthrop 
had  to  guess  —  phonetically:  "4.  Snohomish;  5.  Skaywhahmpsh, 
or  Skykomish;  6.  Snoqualmie;  8.  Kikiallis,  at  head  of  Camano  Island, 
near  Utsaladdy;  9.  Stillaguamish;  10.  Nook-whah-chah-mish,  or  up- 
per Skagit  (river). 


into  the  seal  without  effect,  the  seal  only  diving  and  coming 
up.  The  second,  third  and  fourth  did  the  same.  They  at 
once  saw  that  something  was  wrong,  and  on  the  seal  run- 
ning off  with  all  their  spears  in  it,  they  urged  their  younger 
brother  to  return  home  and  take  care  of  their  mother, 
since,  following  this  strange  destiny,  they  might  never  see 
home  again.  The  seal  swam  far,  far  away,  towing  the  frail 
and  leaky  canoe.  Waves  and  sea,  monsters,  terrible  birds, 
storms,  etc.      At  last,  near  a  wild,  unknown  shore,  the  seal 


Founded  in  the  year  of  Winthrop's  visit  to  the  Sound,  Seattle  is  not  mentioned 
by  him.     A  little  later  Gov.   Stevens  suggested  it  as  the  ter- 
minus of  the   Paciflc   Railway. 

disengaged  itself,  and  hurrying  away  unhurt  was  lost  to 
view.  The  brothers  landed  and  dismally  waited  in  terror 
for  what  the  future  might  bring  forth.  Presently  they  saw 
a  canoe  approaching,  with  a  little,  old,  dwarfish,  deformed 
man  in  it,  who  had  only  one  eye.  As  he  came  near  the 
shore,  he  stopped  his  canoe  and  began  diving.  Each  time 
he  dived  he  brought  up  an  enormous  salmon.  The  hungry 
brothers,  seeing  so  much  good  provender  near,  were  anxious 
for  a  share;  and  while  the  old  fellow  was  diving,  they  watched 
the  chance  and  stole  a  fine  salmon,  which  they  began  cook- 


"No  clipper  that  ever  creaked  and  rumbled  heavily 
along  the  ways,  and  rushed  as  if  to  drown  itself  in  its 
new  element,  staggering  under  the  intoxicating  influence 
of  a  champagne  bottle  cracked  on  the  rudder-post  by 
a  blushing  priestess, — no  such  grand  result  of  modern 
skill  ever  surpassed  in  mere  model  the  canoe  I  had  just 
chartered  for  my  voyage  to  Squally.  Here  was  a  type 
of  speed  and  grace  to  which  the  most  untrammelled 
civilization  has  reverted,  after  cycles  of  junk,  galleon 
and  galliot  building." 

—Chapter  11. 


ing.  As  soon  as  the  old  chap  perceived  his  loss,  which  he 
did  at  once,  he  lifted  his  forefinger  to  the  horizon,  and,  be- 
ginning at  the  east,  traced  around  until  he  came  where  the 
robbers  were  cooking  this  plunder.  He  then  went  to  them 
and  forced  them  by  the  same  magic  under  whose  dominion 
they  still  were  to  follow  him  to  his  village  of  similar  dwarfs, 
where  they  were  kept  prisoners.  A  war  soon  arose  between 
the  birds  and  the  dwarfs,  and  the  birds  darted  their  feathers 
at  the  dwarfs.  After  a  bloody  contest,  the  dwarfs  were 
victorious  but  were  unable  to  draw  out  the  feathers  from 
their  wounds.  The  brothers  performed  for  them  this 
service,  and  in  return  a  whale  was  despatched  to  carry  them 
home.  He  went  wallowing  and  dashing  along,  and  they 
were  rather  astonished  at  this  novel  way  of  travelling.  The 
power  of  the  inimical  sorcerer,  however,  was  still  against 
them;  and  soon  the  whale,  under  his  influence,  sank  and  left 
them  in  the  water.  Each  brother  was  turned  into  a  gram- 
pus, an  animal  which  has  ever  since  helped  the  Indians  in 
their  seal  fishing,  and  is  sacred  among  them. 

"An  Indian  version  of  St.  George  and  the  Dragon. — 
There  was  a  terrible  monster  breathing  fire  and  flame  which 
ravaged  the  whole  country.  He  had  his  abode  in  pathless 
wilderness.  A  mighty  tamanous  man  determined  to  sacri- 
fice himself  for  his  country.  He  marched  to  meet  the  dragon, 
provided  with  a  bow  and  plenty  of  arrows.  As  he  approached 
the  lair  of  the  beast,  he  planted  these  arrows  at  convenient 
distances  apart  in  the  ground;  then,  marching  up,  he  dis- 
charged the  first  with  no  effect.  The  monster  pursued  him 
and  received  flying  shots  from  each  one  of  the  arrows  at 
its  station.  But  the  monster's  hard  hide  resisted  any  such 
blows,  and  our  medicine-man,  using  his  tamanous  power, 
was  compelled  to  turn  himself  into  a  little  fish,  which  the 
pursuing  dragon  at  once  swallowed.  Our  friend,  not  liking 
these  close  quarters,  resumed  his  own  shape  and  cut  his 
way  through,  thus  relieving  the  country  of  his  adversary. 
The  dragon's  skin,  when  cut  off,  covered  four  prairies. 


"Story  of  Mars  and  his  Indian  wife. —  Once  upon  a 
time,  Mars  thought  he  would  take  unto  himself  a  wife 
from  among  the  children  of  men.  Watching  a  time  when 
the  women  were  picking  berries  and  had  lain  down  to  sleep, 
he  stole  the  fair  Tlaiwhal  (or  Plaiwhal).  (Describe  her  and 
the  despair  of  her  lover.)  She  was  surprised  to  find  her- 
self in  another  planet,  and  disposed  to  resist  her  celestial 
lover,  who  was,  however,  very  much  like  men  on  earth, 
as  was  his  abode  like  unto  the  earth.  She  waited  awhile, 
and  at  last  a  child  was  born  to  her.  One  day  Mars,  being 
away,  she  searched  about  and  found  a  trap  door  in  the  bot- 
tom, and  saw  her  native  village.  It  was  far,  far  away. 
But  there  are  no  obstacles  to  the  bold;  so  she  made  a  roi)e 
of  hazel-bush  withes,  and  fastening  it  securely,  let  herself 
and  her  child  down.  Mars  besought  her  to  return,  but,  be- 
ing unable  to  persuade  her,  he  tore  his  hair,  and  there  was  a 
shower  of  shooting  stars.  He  then  determined  to  get  the 
child,  if  not  the  mother;  and  called  in  the  blue-jay,  or  Skai- 
ki,  as  his  ally.  The  child  was  in  his  cradle  under  the  charge 
of  his  grandmother,  a  garrulous  old  dame;  and  the  blue-jay, 
engaging  her  in  conversation,  took  his  chance  and  whipped 
out  the  boy,  substituting  for  him  a  bit  of  rotten  wood  ('an 
image  made  of  punk')-  He  then  flew  away  with  him  to  his 
father.     In  time,  the  boy  became  the  Sun. 

"A  chief  among  the  upper-country  Indians  was  very 
generous  and  gave  away  blankets  and  other  presents  to  the 
people.  Whenever  his  supply  ran  out,  he  made  a  feast, 
at  which  a  particular  dish  figured.  Any  one  who  dipped  his 
hand  into  this  dish,  was  forced  to  pay  him  a  blanket. 

"Start  for  Nooh  Lummi,  Sunday,  Aug.  (14?),  at  10 
a.  m.  Victoria  Indians  call  the  Olympian  Mountains 
'S'ngazanelf .'  When  I  first  saw  Mr.  Todd's  place,  with  a 
glowing  wheat  field  extending  like  a  golden  lawn  down  to  the 
water,  it  gave  a  favorable  first  impression  of  the  country. 

"Talk  of  a  gondola!    It  can  bear  no  comparison  either  in 
form  or  motion  with  the  canoe.    Approach  of  Nooh  Lummi 

KULSHAN.  279 

canoe,  with  fine  looking  man,  wife  and  child.  Our  Indians, 
coming  from  Squally,  tried  to  propitiate  the  wind  by  odd 
lures,  pretending  to  give  bits  of  meat,  etc.,  and  by  backing 
water  with  paddles.  North  of  Bellenna,  we  passed  between 
point  of  Ninganit.  After  the  rough  crossing,  rough  it  was, 
we  fall  upon  a  wild  bold  shore  against  which  a  grand  roaring 
surf  was  beating.  Purple  rocks,  pines  rather  poor,  fire  had 
swept  the  underwood  —  large  arbutuses  (madronas?).  In 
a  heavy  surf  Indians  fishing  for  salmon.  Passing  through 
the  strait,  we  open  upon  a  bay  sprinkled  with  small  islands, 
and  surrounded  by  good  hills.  Indian  name  of  Mt.  Baker 
is  'Kulshan.'*  In  the  distance  are  the  fine,  misty  mountains 
of  Vancouver  Island.  Some  of  the  small  islands  have  the 
pines  brushed  up  from  their  bare  foreheads  on  the  side  to- 
ward the  wind.  We  land,  and  get  water  in  a  beautiful 
spot.  The  noblest  of  arborvitae  cedars  cast  a  deep,  druidical 
shade  over  the  little  spring.  Thick  reeds  and  bushes.  The 
Lummi  songs  are  very  fine.  We  put  into  a  beautiful 
parallelogram  of  a  rocky  cove,  with  a  spring  near  the  water; 
rotten  rocks,  trees  upon  thick  vegetation.  We  sail  just  at 
dark,  leaving  our  fire  gleaming  over  the  bay.  The  birds 
have  been  driven  away  by  our  shots.  The  sea  heaves 
gently  up  to  the  dark  twilight.  Some  sleep,  some  paddle; 
occasionally  the  sail  is  hoisted.  A  few  stars  are  seen  through 
the  clouds.  At  11:30  we  come  to  the  flat  at  the  mouth  of 
the  river,  and  disembark  on  a  swampy  bit,  where  two  men 
have  a  log  house  and  a  fishing  place.  They  answer  our 

"Daylight,  Monday,  Aug.  (15?),  we  start  up  the  whitish- 
muddy  river,  which  overflows  its  banks.  Almost  tropical 
vegetation  borders  the  stream;  above   some  fine  timber. 

*"  'Kulshan'  is  a  Lummi  word  indicating  that  the  summit  of  the 
peak  has  been  damaged,  or  blown  off  by  an  explosion  ('just  as  if  shot 
at  the  end,'  as  one  Indian  explained  it).  This  word  is  used  of  other 
things  damaged  or  supposed  to  be  damaged  in  a  similar  manner,  and  it  is 
not  limited  at  all  in  its  use  to  Mt.  Baker.  The  term  does  not  mean 
'The  Great  White  Watcher,'  or  'The  Shining  One,'  as  commonly  inter- 
preted."—  Dr.  C.  M.  Buchanan. 


Salmon  frame,  twenty  nets  across  the  stream.  A  double 
basket,  one  turns  the  fish  back,  the  other  catches  him. 
Lodge  padrone  gives  a  salmon  breakfast.  Nook-sa-ak* 
tribe  lives  near  Kulshan.  A  child  in  the  Indian  lodge 
found  her  way  to  my  pocket;  horrid  papa  took  her  off. 
Another  one  at  Victoria  was  as  pretty  as  a  delicate  Italian, 
so  that  I  was  tempted  to  throw  myself  at  her  feet  and  offer 
blankets  for  her  heart  and  hand.  It  is  always  interesting 
to  talk  with  these  clear-headed,  independent-judging  men 
of  the  Indian  outposts.  General  Todd  says  Mt.  Baker  was 
active  in  1852,  sending  up  flame  and  smoke  for  several 
days.  There  was  an  earthquake  in  October.  The  Indian 
women  admired  my  red  whiskers.  I  had  to  say  that  civ- 
ilized young  ladies  do  not  share  in  this  opinion. 

"Sunday,  Aug.  21. — Leave  in  Captain  Howard's  boat  for 
Port  Townsend,  at  8  a.  m.;  a  calm  pull  against  tide.  After- 
noon clear.  See  Mts.  Baker  and  Rainier.  Encamp  on 
Smith's  Island.  Two  fires  and  moon  rising,  with  a  broad 
way  over  the  water.  A  star  near  horizon  looks  like  a  comet. 
The  bluff  above  Port  Townsend  is  bold  and  fine,  and  the 
harbor  capital.  Horrid  set  of  Indians,  drunken  and  quar- 
relsome. After  a  great  deal  of  difficulty  and  jealousy,  I 
got  a  leaky  canoe  through  the  Duke  of  York,  and  started. 
He  gave  me  some  liquor  for  one  of  the  Indians  in  the  bow, 
which  I  threw  out,  and  offended  him  so  much  that  he  wanted 
to  turn  back,  and  pretended  to  do  so.  The  Klalam  name  of 
the  Sound  is  'K'u'K'lults.' 

"Monday,  Aug.  22. —  Is  the  first  day  really  clear,  and 
as  I  go  up  the  Sound  with  a  fresh  breeze  and  fair  tide,  the 
summits  of  Olympias  are  very  fine  in  outline,  the  snowy 
ones  just  marked  by  a  glitter.  Several  tops  sprinkled  with 
snow  in  the  Cascades  are  visible;  at  sunrise  these  were  noble. 

"Tuesday,  Aug.  23. —  Indians  are  insufferably  tedious, 
to  a  man  in  a  hurry.    Moonlight,  starlight,  and  red  dawn 

*"  'Nook-sa-ak,' — 'Nook'  or  'Nooh,'  the  people  belonging  to  'Sa-ak,' 
which  is  the  edible  root  of  bracken  or  fern." —  Dr.  C.  M.  Buchanan. 


splendid  over  the  smooth  waters.  At  sunset  and  sunrise, 
Olympias  noble.  Opening  Puyallop  Bay,  Rainier  was 
gi-and  beyond  words,  a  perfect  ideal  of  a  mountain;  lifted 
a  little  by  mist  and  towering  above  all  the  land  and  along 
the  smooth  water.  Old  Duke  of  York,  or  Chitsmash,  has 
plenty  of  teapots,  and  two  daguerreotypes  of  himself. 

"Owh(eh)high  is  chief  of  the  Klickatats,  Loolowcan 
his  son.  Mr.  Huggins's  efficient  aid  hurried  up  matters 
nicely.  Owhigh  fine;  he  wore  a  shirt  stained  with  red.  The 
young  Indians  wore,  broad  beaded  bands  like  an  order. 
One  was  very  handsome  and  very  interesting,  a  Spokan. 
A  fine  set !  Grand  old  fellow,  Owhigh.  These  Indians  im- 
pressed me  by  their  thoughtful  faces. 

"Owhigh  visits  me  again.  Gravely  smokes  a  pipe,  and 
says,  solemnly:  'My  son  has  no  shirt,'  etc.  Fugue  by  Spokan 
and  others. 

"Wednesday,  August  24.  —  We  started  from  the  Fort 
about  3  p.  m.,  and  at  5:45  passed  a  fine  lake,  then  over  a 
fine  but  dry  prairie,  by  another  lake,  and  across  a  broad, 
dry  plain.* 

"At  Montgomery's  house  (siwash  'Cumcumli');  we  find 
him  not  at  home.  His  squaw  takes  good  care  of  us.  My 
Indian  boy  is  disheartened,  but  I  bully  and  persuade  him 
to  go  on. 

"Thursday,  August  25. — We  start  at  6:30  a.  m.,  through 
open  woods,  by  a  trail  down  the  steepest  hillside,  zigzag; 
come  to  the  prairie  valley  of  Puyallop ;  buy  twenty  potatoes 

*The  remarkable  gravel  prairie  over  which  Winthrop  traveled  in 
this  first  afternoon's  ride  out  from  the  Fort,  and  which  impressed  him 
so  greatly  by  its  beauty,  as  it  still  more  impresses  others  who  visit 
it  in  its  present  state,  is  a  great  outwash  plain,  built  of  glacial  debris 
by  the  Nisqually  and  other  rivers.  Several  hundred  square  miles  in 
area,  it  is  dotted  with  lakes  that  draw  their  water  supply  by  subter- 
ranean streams  from  the  near-by  snow-peak,  and  it  is  now  fast  becom- 
ing forested  with  park-like  groups  and  even  groves  of  handsome  young 
evergreens  and  oaks.  Prior  to  Winthrop's  time,  however,  the  Indian  prac- 
tice of  burning  the  prairie  to  promote  the  growth  of  grass  for  the  deer 
had  kept  down  the  forest.  When  he  saw  it,  sixty  years  ago,  this  plain 
was  almost  treeless,  but  deep  in  grass, —  a  range  for  the  droves  of  cattle 


at  an  Indian  lodge;  cross  and  recross  the  stream  for  some 
time.  Rainier  was  very  fine  on  leaving  the  Fort,  and  where- 
ever  openings  in  the  forest  gave  a  view.  We  cross  a  hill 
and  come  to  Hayward's  prairie,  then  by  a  bad  road  to  Wil- 
liamson and  McConnell's  place, —  a  fine  spot  with  splendid 
grass;  then  through  burnt  woods,  crossing  the  river,  to  a 
grassy  prairie,  where  the  view  of  Rainier  is  even  grander. 
We  stop  to  give  our  horses  a  bite  at  the  foot  of  a  pine  hill, 
and  go  on  to  a  clear  stream  to  sleep.  My  Indian  guide 
finds  a  cap,  and  we  meet  his  brother.  They  have  a  jolly 

"Friday,  August  26. —  Start  early.  Terrible  pack  up 
hill  and  down;*  strike  the  road  and  follow,  but  lose  it  near 
the  White  River.  Cross  the  river  several  times;  pack  gets 
wet.  Magnificent  woods  —  arborvitae.  These  straight, 
branchless  trees  are  like  our  (word  undecipherable).  The 
Indian  trail  is  very  bad,  blocked  with  logs  everywhere. 
The  road  is  bad,  but  better.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  see 
white  men's  handiwork.  Occasionally,  in  crossing  the  river, 
we  had  fine  glimpses  of  splendid  timbered  hills. 

"Kamaiakan  is  the  first,  and  Tuaiash  (or  Tuaiuse)  the 
ordinary,  chief  of  the  Klickatats. 

which  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company's  branch  at  Fort  Nisqually  bred 
and  marketed. 

The  lakes  which  Winthrop  mentions  in  the  same  paragraph  were 
probably  those  we  now  call  American  and  Spanaway,  the  largest  of 
many  beautiful  forest-rimmed  lakes  within  a  few  miles  of  Tacoma. 
The  steep  hillside  which  he  descended  was  that  of  "McKinley  Hill," 
on  which  the  south  part  of  the  present  city  is  built,  overlooking  the 
Puyallup  Indian  Reservation  and  the  broad  tide-level  "prairie  valley" 
which  the  Puyallup  River  has  constructed  at  the  head  of  Commence- 
ment Bay,  the  Tacoma  harbor  (Winthrop's  "Puyallop  Bay"). 

*The  hills  crossed  in  this  Friday  morning's  ride  were  those  between 
the  present  towns  of  Sumner  and  Buckley,  and  the  "road"  which  Win- 
throp mentions  was  part  of  the  clearing  which  the  white  settlers  on 
the  upper  Sound  had  opened  in  1850  toward  the  Naches  Pass,  and 
somewhat  improved  shortly  before  his  visit.  Here  Winthrop  finds  it 
"bad,"  but  preferable  to  the  Indian  trail,  with  its  windfalls.  Later 
in  the  day,  as  his  afternoon  entry  shows,  and  as  he  has  told  us  in  Chap- 
ter V.  of  "Canoe  and  Saddle,"  he  found  it  ending  in  the  hopeless  tangle 
and  "slashings"  of  a  first  clearing  through  the  forest,  at  the  foot  of  the 
steep  slope  of  several  thousand  feet  leading  to  the  pass. 

LIKE  A  SWISS  ALP.  283 

"2  p.  m. — Meet  Hodges.*  Evening;  Loolowcan  wants  to 
turn  off  to  the  trail.  I  keep  on  the  road,  which  ends  about 
nightfall.  No  blazes  to  guide  us.  I  see  a  fire,  and  come  to 
the  road-makers'  camp;  picturesque  scene,  among  the  lofty 
trees,  by  the  rushing  stream.  In  ancient  times,  these  would 
have  been  robbers. 

"Saturday,  August  27. — The  road  ended,  and  we  climbed 
by  the  trail  up  terribly  steep  hills,  with  the  first  grand  view 
of  Rainier,  the  summit  of  which,  seen  at  this  angle,  is  sad- 
dle-like, and  perhaps  smoking,  with  a  huge  cavity  below,  f 
The  high  buttresses  of  the  snow-peak  are  covered  with  the 
profoundest  forest  that  one  can  conceive. 

"The  splendid  prairies  on  top  of  the  pass  are  like  a  Swiss 
Alp  after  late  snows.    From  here  on,  the  road  is  very  bad, 

—  hardly  well  blazed, —  with  a  steady  descent,  occasionally 
over  little  mountain  grass  prairies.  I  pick  up  an  exhausted 
United  States  horse,  fallen  under  a  log.  Encamp  late  on 
Sowee's  prairie.  I  had  shot  four  fine  grouse,  which  were 
spoilt  dried,  Indian  fashion,  before  the  fire.  Find  water 
in  a  little  swamp. 

"Sunday,  August  28. — Start  at  5  a.  m.  Valley  of  the 
Nachchese  becomes  more  open;  fine  grass,  with  scattered 
yellow  pines;  rather  desolate.     Sometimes  the  mountains 

*Lieut.  Henry  C.  Hodges,  the  "Lieut.  H."  of  Chapter  V.  of  "Canoe 
and  Saddle." 

tThe  saddle  in  the  summit  line,  as  Winthrop  saw  it,  is  the  dip  be- 
tween North  Peak  ("Liberty  Cap")  and  Crater  Peak,  the  actual  sum- 
mit of  the  mountain.  The  "huge  cavity"  referred  to  is  the  vast  cirque 
which  Carbon  Glacier  has  sculptured  deep  in  the  north  side  of  the  peak, 

—  the  largest  mountain-side  amphitheatre  in  the  United  States,  south 
of  Alaska,  now  occupied  by  a  glacier.  It  is  nearly  three  miles  in  width, 
and  the  face  of  the  ice-stream  lies  more  than  a  thousand  feet  below 
the  bordering  ridges.  The  glacier  has  cut  so  far  back  toward  the  heart 
of  the  snow-peak  that  its  head-wall  is  now  almost  perpendicular, —  a 
cliff  a  mile  high,  and  far  too  steep  to  hold  snow,  over  which  avalanches 
fall  daily  from  the  summit  ice-cap  to  the  glacier  below.  Viewed  from 
the  alpine  "parks"  on  either  side  of  it,  this  glacier  presents  the  most 
noteworthy  spectacle  in  the  entire  circuit  of  the  mountain,  which  em- 
braces more  than  a  score  of  great  glaciers  and  the  canyons  they  have 
cut  through  the  high  plateau  that  supports  this  noblest  of  extinct  vol- 
canoes.    See  the  views  from  Pyramid  Peak. 


came  very  near,  making  a  canyon  of  the  valley;  and  we 
were  then  obliged  to  take  to  the  hills.  Early,  came  to  a 
deep,  cool,  green  pool  in  the  river;  water  clear,  differing  from 
that  of  White  River,  on  the  west  side,  which  was  muddy 
white.  Sometimes  these  hills  become  too  steep  for  vegeta- 
tion, and  their  slopes  are  rock  slides,  along  which  the  ter- 
rible path  leads  among  the  wildest  scenes  imaginable,  with 
gigantic,  precipitous,  ragged,  burnt  cliffs  overhead.  The  rocks 
are  of  the  richest  red  brown.  The  sky  is  brilliant.  Minter 
starts  up  from  under  a  bush.*  Noon;  horses  eat  pea-vines. 
McClellan  rides  up  well.  Descending  the  valley,  the  plains 
become  broader,  covered  with  fine  bunch-grass.  Just  at 
evening,  come  upon  Captain  McClellan's  camp,  in  a  very 
wide  plain.  Now  we  ride  fast,  among  hills  that  are  great 
rolling  masses  without  forest,  and  by  the  side  of  the  river 
rushing  over  its  rocks.  Splendid  immensity  of  landscape. 
It  is  an  unfinished  world,  this;  and  when  the  next  great 
convulsions  come,  who  knows  what  places  we  shall  take? 
The  sun  set  clear,  and  the  light  of  evening  was  grand  over 
the  broad  view.  A  bear  is  seen  by  my  guide,  who  follows. 
At  9:30,  we  encamp  just  on  the  river;  sleep  on  the  stones. 
The  wind  blows  a  gale.    Picturesque  fire;  wild  night. 

"Monday,  August  29. — The  beautiful  light  of  morning 
shows  a  bold  crag  opposite,  broken  and  precipitous;  the 
rushing  stream  is  superb,  and  the  country  open.  As  we 
go  on,  in  the  fresh  morning  breeze,  the  hills  retire,  break 
into  ranges.  See  a  horse  hobbled,  my  guide  calls,  and  a 
shabby  Indian  in  an  old  brown  coat  appears.  The  old 
rascal  tries  to  persuade  Loolowcan  to  go  off  with  him, 
which,  in  the  middle  of  the  broad  plain,  no  path  to  me  known, 
he  is  very  ready  to  do.  At  last,  on  condition  of  my  engaging 
a  horse  at  Weenas  to  bring  him  back,  he  comes  on.  We 
cross  the  range,  f  see  American  camp,  and  go  to  Indian 
lodge.    Master  asleep,  his  wives  searching  children's  heads 

*J.  F.  Minter,  a  civil  engineer  attached  to  the  McClellan  survey. 
tThe  high,  barren  hills  between  the  Naches  and  Wenas  valleys. 


for  fleas  and  lice.  The  master  has  plenty  of  horses,  but 
wants  a  fabulous  price.  Guide  proves  treacherous,  and  not 
disposed  to  go.  At  last,  tired  of  talking,  I  determined  to  shift 
for  myself,  and  started  for  the  United  States  camp.  Loolow- 
can  demanded  his  pay.  I  refused.  He  rejoined:  'Wake  nika 
memloose.'  I  found  Mowry*  in  camp  buying  potatoes  and 
salmon  of  Indians.  Started  alone  for  the  priests';  lost  my 
way,  but  met  the  same  old  Indian  of  the  morning.  He  offered 
to  put  me  on  the  road,  when  up  came  two  boys  I  had  been 
talking  with,  and  consented  to  go  for  a  dirty  shirt  I  had  on. 
Remarkable  good  luck,  for  with  my  tired  horses,  which  I 
was  with  difficulty  driving,  I  might  not  have  arrived  till 
night,  if  I  had  found  the  place  at  all.  Another  boy  joined, 
and  we  cantered  along  over  two  ranges  of  hills,  bare;  across 
two  broad  valleys,  recrossing  the  Nachchese  lower  down. 
At  5  p.  m.,  arrived  at  the  pretty  spot  on  the  Atinam  where 
the  priests  have  their  little  cabin  and  hut.  My  difficulties 
made  known,  they  at  once  volunteer  assistance,  and  send 
our  boys  in  search  of  Camaiockkan.  He  was  supposed 
to  be  near  by,  but  messengers  did  not  find  him. 

"Tuesday,  August  30. — Next  morning  I  despair  but  at 
the  word,  lo  a  savage  in  Lincoln  green  arrives,  Camaiockkan 
himself;  not  so  remarkable  in  appearance  as  Owhigh,  and 
darker,  but  a  more  reliable  face.  His  coat  was  made  of 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company's  fine  green  cloth,  and  put 
together  all  in  patches.  A  few  minutes  put  him  au  courant 
de  Vaffaire,  and  he  sent  off  for  one  of  his  young  men  who 
had  just  returned  from  Wasco.  The  hospitality  of  the  priests 
and  a  chat  in  French  made  the  time  pass  pleasantly,  malgre 
my  anxiety.  They  told  me  of  a  man  (perhaps  a  runaway 
soldier)  who  started  across  the  mountains  alone,  on  foot, 
without  prog  or  ammunition.  The  Indians  saw  a  white 
man's  track  in  the  trail,  no  horse,  and  were  astonished. 
Hyas  tamanous  !     They  followed  up  and  found  him  lying 

fLieut.  Sylvester  Mowry,  Third  Artillery,  U.  S.  A.,  of  the  McClel- 
lan  expedition. 


in  a  state  of  extreme  exhaustion.  They  asked:  'Where  do 
you  come  from?'  'Walla  Walah/  '  Where  are  you  going?' 
— 'Walla  Walah.'  etc.,  etc.  Always  the  same  reply;  like 
the  American  who,  in  Paris,  could  answer  nothing  but 
Meurice's  Hotel.  Making  nothing  of  him,  they  lifted  him 
upon  a  horse  —  he  could  hardly  sustain  himself  —  and  took 
him  to  the  priests,  who  cared  for  him  and  despatched  him 
to  the  Dalles. 

"Presently  arrives  from  a  journey  Ferdinand,  known 
to  the  priest,  and  a  very  sociable,  good  sort  of  a  fellow.  He 
promises  to  go,  if  the  other  will  not.  The  other  not  coming, 
the  priest  lent  his  mare  to  be  taken  to  the  village  or  camp, 
and  left,  if  the  guide  consented  to  go  with  me;  I  giving  him 
one  of  mine  if  not.  Find  no  camp,  and  we  leave  the  mare  in 
a  meadow  and  press  on.  First  over  a  lofty,  rough  mountain, 
with  rough,  trap  pebbles;  then  across  long  plains;  fresh 
streams  with  bushy  bottoms,  some  oak  timber;  tracks  of 
bear,  who  had  come  down  to  inquire  into  the  state  of  the 
acorn  crop.  Fine  day,  but  very  hot  and  horses  tired.  After- 
noon, tremendous  ascent,  zigzag,  and  view  over  all  the  rough 
country  behind;  no  distant  mountains  on  account  of  smoke 
or  mist.  Then  open  country,  with  pines  again,  good  road 
and  fine  grass.  So  along  till  nightfall,  when  lightning  and 
thunder,  settling  into  a  mild  drizzle  and  too  dark  to  see  the 
road  except  by  the  flashes.  We  guide  steadily  and  uner- 
ringly on,  with  an  occasional  whistle  between  us.  At  9 :  30, 
very  dark,  and  in  the  woods.  Ferdinand  wanted  to  stop.  We 
set  a  tree  on  fire.  I  would  not  unpack,  but  crouched  under 
my  horse  blanket.  It  was  dismal,  dark,  wet,  and  unpleas- 
ant very.  I  lay  under  a  tree,  or  watched  by  the  fire  in  hopes 
the  weather  would  clear,  and  we  could  go  on.  But  we  could 
not  until  dawn,  when  our  tree  fell  with  a  crash. 

"Wednesday,  August  31.— Dismally  we  started,  and 
rode  up  and  down  in  the  rain,  being  as  cold  as  possible. 
I  rode  as  fast  as  the  tired  horse  could  go.  Prairie  hens 
rose.    At  last  to  open  country  again, —  a  great  real  prairie, 

H  ^  5 



with  the  high  mountains  in  the  distance.  A  band  of  Indian 
horses  and  an  Indian  tearing  along  to  lasso  one ;  picturesque 
sight.  The  plain  seemed  endless.  At  last  we  reach  the 
last  mountain  and  over  the  crest  see  the  Dalles,  far  off. 
Down  the  steep  mountain  to  the  wildest  and  most  striking 
cliffs  yet  seen,  and  marking  the  formation  much  more  than 
anything  on  the  other  side,  and  worth  the  journey  to  see. 
We  came  down  by  a  chasm  to  the  borders  of  the  river  and 
rode  on  to  the  lower  ferry,  where  there  was  no  boat.  My 
patience  was  nearly  exhausted  and  I  rode  back  to  opposite 
the  town  where  I  fired  and  hailed.  Two  Indians  came  in  a 
canoe,  and  the  tired  horses  swam  across.  Hurrah ! ! !  Sev- 
enth day  of  my  journey,  and  the  thirty-first  of  August. 

"Much  of  the  country  passed  through  at  the  end  of  the 
trip  would  be  highly  suitable  for  cattle;  the  numerous  fine 
streams  all  have  small  fertile  bottoms  for  cultivation. 
The  Yakimah  Indians  are  a  large  tribe,  Clickatat  a  small 
branch  of  same  family.  The  Yakimah  language  is  regular. 
Freres  D'Herbomez  and  Pandosy  do  not  think  they  are  ac- 
complishing much  in  training  the  Indians.  Owhigh  and 
his  band  are  famous  for  horse  stealing,  and  two  of  mine 
are  probably  stolen  horses.  He  is  a  sort  of  Romulus,  and 
all  the  evil-disposed  come  to  him. 

"Dalles  looked  familiar,  except  for  two  new  houses  and 
more  tents.  River  low.  Odgen,  McKinley  (or  McHenry), 
and  Brent  here.  Saw  Plummer  at  once,  and  made  my  ar- 
rangements. Sammis  (?)  lent  me  a  horse  as  far  as  Olney's,* 
and  thence  I  was  to  have  one  to  the  Agency,  where  their 
horses  are  very  bad.  My  saddle  and  other  things  complete. 
Sell  my  gun  to  Montgomery  for  $40.  Draw  $300,  and  we 
get  away  on  Thursday,  September  1,  at  2  p.  m.,  for  Salt 
Lake;  pass  two  or  three  emigrant  wagons.  Plummer 
entertains  me  with  an  odd  recital  of  his  adventures.  At 
Olney's  we  find  a  large  number  of  emigrants  with  cattle, 

*Nathan  Olney,  interpreter  and  Indian  agent,  living  near  The 
Dalles,  who  later  came  into  great  prominence  during  the  Indian  wars. 


etc.  White  tents  picturesque  sight  with  the  train  winding 
down  the  long  hill.  Find  Nathan  Olney  a  fine  fellow. 
Rough  set  the  emigrants,  of  which  more  hereafter.  Beauti- 
ful evening.  They  play  poker  all  night,  while  I  go  up  to  sleep. 

"Friday,  September  2. —  Emigrants  begin  to  get  under 
way  about  seven.  The  people  are  a  rough,  slangy  set. 
We  don't  start  on  account  of  rain.  Many  have  friends  who 
have  gone  out  to  meet  them.  A  man  comes  to  sell  a  fiddle. 
A  tremendously  tall  fellow,  who  has  walked  nearly  the 
whole  way,  came  in  to  hire  a  horse  for  the  last  ten  miles, 
and  is  laughed  at.  They  all  come  from  some  out-of-the-way 
place  in  Missouri.  Indian  tamanoiis  manifestations  like 
our  spiritual  rappings;  a  few  are  faithful,  some  laugh  and 
deceive.  Fandangoes;  some  sensual  dances  are  found  among 
all  nations;  ours  the  ballet.  After  the  people  had  slept  off 
the  effects  of  the  night,  we  got  horses.  Mr.  Olney  was  so 
kind  as  to  provide  me  and  make  no  charge,  and  we  started 
about  5  p.  m.  We  met  a  few  wagons  on  the  long  hill;  look- 
ing over  the  country,  the  whole  face  appeared  to  be  covered 
with  small  mounds  like  those  at  Dalles.  We  come  down 
upon  the  Columbia  again,  its  valley  the  very  type  of  deso- 
lation in  the  angry-looking  evening.  The  Falls*  are  a  slide 
down  a  ledge  of  trap  rocks,  and  are  confined  to  a  very  nar- 
row channel;  above  extends  the  same  open  country  and 
bare  crags.  The  Deschutes  is  a  rapid  stream.  Stake  our 
horses,  and  sleep  at  the  ferry  house,  having  made  five  miles, 
fifteen  in  two  days.  A  pleasant  man  Olney  has  given  me, 
but  I  am  very  sore  from  Newell's  horse.    So  ends. 

"Saturday,  September  3. —  Trouble  in  finding  horses. 
Start  at  9,  in  drizzling  rain.  The  poncho  of  my  blanket 
shows  the  advantage  of  being  beforehand.  In  about  six 
miles  we  leave  the  Columbia  and  turn  up  among  the  bare, 
rolling  hills,  up  and  down,  with  a  bleak  view  rendered  doubly 
so  by  the  chilly  day.  No  green  thing  in  sight, —  nothing 
but  the  autumnal  hue  of  the  broad  view.    From  time  to 

♦Celilo  Falls  of  the  Columbia. 

^^^^^^^^I^^^^^^^IL^  >. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^K  '■ 

~^\^H^^^^^^^Hc  V] 



■^''^^'^mBJI      'm 

w,<|gjM^y    V^;ff 

'^^1^11^9^  vp       ''^r  i 






^^W--'n  .N^""-^-  '.'■ 

.L>:-^"i     '/  \ft 

•    ''^'>-    ^  /•  .••^*'^r'--  ■■  ■* 


r.V  ^^,    -<^,^v:,   : 

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time  we  passed  trains,  all  looking  more  or  less  done  up,  but 
plodding  on  in  hope  soon  of  reaching  the  promised  land. 
Names  on  wagons;  foot  travellers.  At  two  p.  m.  we  found 
a  large  train  from  Mississippi  stopped  on  a  hill  top,  and  we 
got  some  bread  and  molasses  of  them.  They  were  keeping 
jolly  in  the  rain  and  cold.  Paid  50  cents.  Women  travel, 
and  even  children,  fresh  and  jolly.  Little  child  with  yellow 
mane  looking  out  of  the  side  of  a  wagon.  Men  rough 
and  thin,  with  rough  beards,  some  half  shorn,  but  few  really 
grown.*  We  then  galloped  steadily  on,  and  at  3:20  reached 
John  Day's  River,  twenty-six  miles  down  a  long,  rough, 
rocky  hill.  It  is  quite  a  stream,  clear  and  rapid,  with  a 
little  brush  wood  in  the  bottom.  Several  trading  posts  and 
camps  give  life  to  the  scene  as  we  look  down  from  a  very 
steep  hill  which  may  be  avoided  by  longer  road  to  the  right. 
We  kept  our  steady  lope,  but  above  the  rain  was  harder  and 
had  been;  hence  on  arriving  at  the  flat  above  the  spring, 
six  miles,  the  road  proved  very  heavy  and  continued  so. 
On,  over  the  lonely  land;  stop  at  two  large  emigrant  camps. 
They  do  not  want  to  keep  us.  Night  comes,  but  we  hurry 
along,  and  down  a  hill  see  lights  in  the  valley  of  Willow 
Creek.  Pass  on  to  Webster's  camp,  and  get  supper;  go  to 
Tompkins'  and  chat  with  men  and  women.  Coarse  but 
genuine  Webster  appears  to  be,  and  hospitable.  The  gen- 
eral impression  I  get  is  that  the  emigrants  are  not  so  good 
a  sort  of  people  as  the  more  liberal  Oregonians.  The  emi- 
grants come  out  with  their  homespun  notions  of  economy, 

*  Snowden  gives  some  interesting  figures  that  suggest  the  great 
volume  of  overland  migration  at  this  period,  though  not  for  the  year  of 
Winthrop's  trip.  He  quotes  the  count  made  at  Fort  Kearney,  on  the 
Platte  River.  At  this  fort,  which  was  on  the  main  route  to  the  Rockies, 
the  record  for  the  year  1852,  up  to  July  14,  was  18,856  men,  4,270 
women,  and  5,590  children.  "Among  them  were  four  men  with  wheel- 
barrows, several  with  pushcarts,  while  a  few  others  carried  all  their 
worldly  possessions,  including  pick  and  shovel,  on  their  shoulders. 
There  was  probably  an  equal  number  passing  on  the  north  bank  of  the 
Platte,  who  could  not  be  seen  from  the  fort,  and  still  other  thousands 
were  coming  by  sea,  around  Cape  Horn,  and  by  way  of  the  isthmus. 
Most  of  these  were  undoubtedly  going  to  California,  but  part  of  them 
would  come  to  Oregon." —  History  of  Washington,  III.,  152. 


which  they  can  not  honestly  carry  out,  and  often  try  to,  dis- 
honestly. Men  some  time  in  Oregon  or  California,  get 
a  look  of  up-to-snuff,  which  these  new  arrivals  have  not. 
We  got  fresh  beef  at  Webster's.     It  clears  during  the  night. 

"Sunday,  September  4. —  A  splendid  morning  when  I 
wake.  P.  is  just  off  after  the  horses,  which  he  does  not  find 
till  late.  We  got  away  at  9.  More  trains  to-day, —  trains  of 
twelve  wagons.  This  is  a  fine  day  and  warm.  Mt.  Adams 
and  Mt.  Hood  are  on  the  horizon,  old  friends  to  bid  adieu 
to.  The  landscape  is  limitless,  like  the  sea.  A  boy  asks 
if  I  am  just  from  Oregon.  Some  remark  on  our  fast  riding. 
A  man  asks,  'You  from  Oregon?'  'Yes.'  'Do  you  know 
Adams?'  Children  trudging  along  after  the  wagons;  women, 
sometimes  on  horseback,  help  drive.  See  a  great  pair  of 
booted  lubberly  legs  sticking  out  of  wagon  behind.  Some 
of  these  people  are  perfectly  black  with  dust.  We  ride 
fast.  My  legs  are  horribly  chafed  from  the  wet  ride  on 
other  side,  and  I  am  obliged  to  bear  against  the  stirrups. 
Butter  Creek  running  fast  in  spots,  and  dry  in  others.  Meet 
Captain  Thompson;  arrange  for  Olney's  horse,  which  has 
brought  me  admirably,  and  on  to  Agency  over  a  great  plain 
of  the  Umatillah.  Find  Williams  in  the  little  frame  house 
of  the  Agency.  Supper.  Buy  a  hide  lariat  for  $5.  Cross 
the  river  here  at  a  perfectly  dry  sink,  and  on  by  dark  to 
camp  at  Collins',  with  whom  I  turn  in  and  get  a  good  sleep. 

"Monday,  September  5. — The  horses  could  not  be  found, 
and  additional  are  required  for  me;  the  men  were  des- 
patched off  in  search.  All  day  occupied  in  this.  Emi- 
grants coming  in  all  day.  I  washed  a  shirt,  etc.,  and  bathed 
in  the  Umatillah;  not  too  cold.  Horses  come  in.  At  sun- 
set we  just  see  Mt.  Hood  and  Mt.  Adams.  Sugar,  50 
cents  a  pound.  Flour,  50  cents.  Liquor,  $2  a  pint.  In- 
dians admire  my  Jiat  ribbons. 

"Tuesday,  September  6. —  More  horses  to  be  found.  We 
delay  and  get  packs,  etc., —  rather  make-shiftings  —  ready, 
and  start  at  eleven.    Long  level  reach  of  16  miles;  827 


wagons  this  morning  at  the  Agency.  Come  to  Mr.  McKay's, 
a  fine  fellow.  He  makes  me  a  whip  lash.  Brook  Owens,  a 
very  handsome  man  from  Flathead  country,  hospitably 
disposed,  and  a  nice  spot  on  the  Umatillah.  Tm-ner  rides 
in  with  Olney's  saddle.  I  give  him  $25  and  mine,  he  en- 
tirely refusing  to  give  up  the  stolen  goods.  I  am  all  right 
with  my  new  rig,  and  ride  off  gaily.  We  follow  up  in  the  vale 
of  the  stream,  still  passing  trains.  A  man  who  has  been 
foolish  enough  to  shave  has  his  lips  all  cracked,  as  do  others. 
Camp  on  open  hillside.  Hobble  horses  and  cook  supper. 
Whole  distance  for  the  day,  twenty-four  miles.  Have 
passed  one  hundred  wagons,  total  nine  hundred  and  twenty- 

"Wednesday,  Sept.  7. —  Night  perfectly  beautiful  and 
clear.  Got  up  at  dawn,  4:20.  Deliciouslycool,  not  cold.  Start 
at  6:40.  Leave  Umatillah  and  in  six  miles  come  to  the  base 
of  the  Blue  Mountains,  bare  and  smooth.  Capital  road 
up  first  stretch,  through  open  piae  timber.  Morning, 
passed  forty-one  wagons  and  many  persons  on  foot  and 
horseback.  P.  M.,  sixteen  miles  down  a  steep  hill  to  Grande 
Ronde  River,  rapid  and  clear.  Large  number  of  emigrant 
white  wagons  and  groups  of  cattle  make  a  picturesque 
scene.  Up  a  very  steep  hill  road  to  the  left.  Good  grass 
on  the  highlands.  I  take  the  lead,  and  we  travel  fast.  As 
evening  comes,  beautiful  blues  and  purples  come  over  the 
mountains,  and  the  pines  grow  deeper  in  color.  Dust 
around  the  train  glows  golden.  (Elisha  said  of  the  bare 
stretch  beyond  McKay's:  'The  man  who  made  this  country 
forgot  the  timber  and  water.  He  either  forgot  it,  or  it  was 
d — d  carelessness.')  Down  a  long  hill,  and  up  another; 
and  come  in  sight  of  the  Grande  Ronde  Valley.  In  the  cool 
of  evening,  with  the  soft  light  of  the  setting  sun  over  the 
broad  yellow  plain,  it  looks  like  a  great  dry  lake,  or  a  vast 
crater  bed;  and  the  hills  around  might  once  have  been  the 
walls  of  a  volcano,  a  particularly  steep  mountain  to  the  left, 
dominant  over  the  whole,  with  a  crag  at  the  top.    The  course 


of  Grande  Ronde  River  is  traced  out  by  a  narrow  belt  of 
small  timber.  It  is  a  beautiful  sight.  There  is,  however, 
no  picturesqueness  in  these  broad  views.  This  is  an  admir- 
able spot  for  colonization;  fine  grass  and  water,  timber 
distant  on  hillsides.  To  the  eye,  the  valley  appears  six 
miles  wide,  eighteen  long.  Very  little  snow  in  winter 
but  for  weak  settlers  there  might  be  trouble  with  Indians. 
The  Cayuse  make  their  headquarters  here  and  some  Nez 
Perces.    We  meet  a  good  many,  and  a  large  band  of  horses. 

SHE-CA-YAH;    a  Cayiise  Chief. 

Descending  to  the  Grande  Ronde,  down  the  long,  steep 
hill,  we  find  sixteen  wagons  encamped.  We  camp  after 
sunset,  6:30,  a  little  apart.  Dark  comes,  and  it  is  a  little 
trouble  to  manage.  Whole  distance  for  the  day  forty- 
seven  and  one-half  miles.  Wagons  to-day,  one  hundred; 
total,  one  thousand  and  twenty-seven. 

"Thursday,  Sept.  8. —  Fine  night  and  capital  sleep; 
morning  just  cool  enough  to  make  one  lively.  Off  at  seven, 
and  ride  hard,  round  close  to  hills  on  right,  over  perfect 
level  with  fine  grass  all  the  way.  Stop  at  White  and  Gee's 
camp;  I  get  a  capital  dinner  of  beef,  cooked  to  a  turn;  also 


coffee.  Several  Indians  come.  Gee  has  bought  fifty  cattle 
at  $20.  Leave  at  11:20,  and  keep  along  on  highland  with 
good  grass  and  many  little  springs  and  streams;  then  over 
level  highland,  with  distant  Snake  River  peaks  on  the  left, 
scant  of  snow,  and  the  high,  bold  Blue  Mountains  on  the 
right,  to  a  branch  of  Powder  River;  and  then  seventeen 
miles  to  Powder  River,  rapid  and  clear.  Digger  Indians, 
with  large  fresh  salmon,  look  very  wild.  Toward  evening 
we  make  a  long  gallop  over  the  plain,  and  then  through 
high  grass  in  search  of  McGillivray's  camp.  When  we 
arrive  at  5:30,  in  all  forty-one  miles,  we  find  people  camped, 
twenty  wagons,  or  for  the  day  sixty-three.  A  fine  sunset 
over  the  mountains.  Sup  with  the  camp  and  chat  with  the 
emigi-ants.  Total  wagons  to  date,  1090.  Total  distance 
from  Dalles,  235  miles.  Powder  River  slough  furnishes 
good  grass  and  water. 

"Friday,  Sept.  9. —  Beautiful  night  and  sunrise  lovely 
over  the  mountains.  We  start  at  6:30,  over  a  long  sage- 
brush moor  with  bare  hills  to  the  right,  and  Snake  River 
Mountains,  very  like  Cairngorm,  to  the  left.  The  country 
has  the  general  look  of  the  barren  part  of  Scotland.  Jake 
and  I  search  for  camp  and  prepare  dinner,  12:30;  30  long 
miles  and  60  wagons.  Camp  by  a  rapid  of  Burnt  River, 
in  cotton-wood,  with  good  grass.  I  should  have  thought 
our  plainsmen  the  slangiest  people  in  the  world  if  I  had 
not  heard  young  Oxford  and  the  Boulevard  flaneurs.  Our 
Pacific  language  is  crisped  by  Spanish.  Long  noon,  and 
start  at  3 :10.  Showers  in  distance,  and  fine  clouds.  Among 
the  high  bare  mountains  of  Burnt  River.  We  cross  the 
stream  several  times,  and  at  sunset  turn  off  up  a  little  creek 
and  camp.  Afternoon,  kill  a  rattlesnake.  I  am  quite 
sick  and  wretched.  Capital  water  but  little  grass.  The 
mountains  are  like  great  waves  of  the  sea,  overhead,  just 
touched  by  rising  sun. 

"Saturday,  10. — Cool  morning  and  fresh  wind.  We  start 
at  7,  and  down  the  valley,  crossing  the  river  several  times 



in  10  miles;  come  to  a  poor  brackish  spring,  then  to  miser- 
able, barren,  sage-moor  country,  and  shocking  dust.  I  am 
feeling  miserable,  and  have  eaten  no  breakfast.  At  11:15, 
come  to  nice  cool  spring  and  a  little  grass.  We  have  had  a 
sight  of  Snake  River  valley,  bare  of  vegetation.  At  5:45 
camp  upon  Malheur  River.  Little  spring  upon  the  brink; 
little  grass  and  no  wood.    Sheep  come  in.    We  camp  with 


<^'Y'  '5 

Head  Chief  of  the  Nez  Perces;  a  wise  and  trustworthy  friend  to  the  whites. 

people  who  are  behindhand  and  somewhat  discouraged. 
They  cook  for  us.  Sheep  make  a  row  all  night.  I  am  sick; 
the  spring  was  the  cause.  The  air  all  day  has  been  tainted 
with  dead  cattle.  I  ride  a  big  cream  horse;  call  him  Om- 
nibus, a  lumbering  beast. 

"Sunday,  Sept.  11. —  Leave  Malheur  camp  at  7,  and  ride 
over  desolate  moors  of  sage  to  Snake  River  and  Fort  Boise; 
fifteen  miles  without  water  or  grass.  The  river  is  1,200  or 
1,500  feet  wide;  the  horses  swim  and  we  ferry.    Train  of 

THE  DESERT.     •  295 

emigrants  arrive  and  cross  rather  kla-hyam  (good-bye). 
Ferriage,  $5.  Large  band  of  Nez  Perces;  not  very  fine,  nor 
are  their  horses.  Fort  Boise  was  washed  away  this  spring, 
and  they  are  building  a  new  one  out  of  the  old  adobes.  The 
old  Fort  in  ruins  is  like  a  low  shed;  serves  for  a  trade  shop. 
The  river  banks  are  low,  and  above  scantily- wooded.  We 
stop  all  day  with  Mcintosh.  I  am  better  for  the  rest,  but 
very  sick.  The  emigrants  stop  on  the  other  side  of  the  river, 
and  fiddle.     Indians  come  and  go. 

"Monday,  Sept.  12. —  Ride  over  barren,  flat  sage  moors 
till  we  strike  Boise  River.  Ford  the  river.  A  Shoshone, 
fine-looking  Indian,  joins  us.  Total,  thirty-five  miles.  Night 
very  fine.  The  fires  on  the  mountains  run  about  like  squad- 
rons of  an  army. 

"Tuesday,  Sept.  13.— Am  still  wretchedly  ill.  Thin 
young  Indians  bring  in  salmon  and  suckers.  Snake  River 
all  along  is  cotton-wooded,  and  there  are  pretty  good  grass 
hills  on  the  right  banks;  a  broad  sage  moor  is  on  the  left 
bank.  Camp  in  sand  on  bank  —  fifteen  miles.  After  dinner, 
cross  the  river,  over  the  hills  to  the  north;  keep  on  our  way 
over  rough  hills,  with  groups  of  rock  that  might  be  pictur- 
esque if  they  were  less  desolate.  The  famous  short  trip  of 
the  boys,  Jake  and  Elisha,  was  made  in  thirteen  days  from 
the  Agency  to  Salt  Lake  City.  Late,  we  come  to  little 
stream  issuing  from  marshy  hillside.  Threatening  weather. 
I  am  very  sick.  Eat  half  a  square  inch  of  bread,  and  am 
desperate.     Fire  of  wagon  boxes. 

"Wednesday,  Sept.  14. —  Only  sprinkling  of  rain  in  night. 
Late  start  — hot  day  —  ride  under  range  of  craggy  trap 
hills;  15  miles  to  a  fine  stream.  Meet  4  wagons;  get  a  little 
laudanum  and  a  cholera  powder,  with  some  saleratus  and 
dried  apples.  An  old  fellow  talks  in  a  way  that  would  frighten 
timid  man.  One  mile  beyond,  \i>e  camp,  up  the  hill  by 
a  grand  gushing  spring;  capital  water  and  a  little  grass. 
Make  good  bread.  I  feel  a  little  better.  Twenty-three 
miles  —  start  at  2:20  p.  m.   Meet  an  Indian  driving  3  oxen, 


which  we  claim  and  take.    Camp  on  fine  stream,  with  plenty 
of  grass  to  right  of  road.   Feel  better.    Forty- three  miles. 

"Thursday,  Sept.  15. —  Still  a  little  better;  25  drops 
laudanum.  Good  start;  leave  road  and  take  trail.  In  six 
miles,  strike  Snake  River.  Deep,  with  flat  banks, —  nothing 
but  bushes.  All  the  country  for  last  three  days  has  been 
desperately  desert,  with  only  a  few  sage  fowl.  We  leave 
the  cattle  with  an  Indian.  Get  dry  salmon,  and  camp  on 
the  river,  17  miles,  on  a  spot  with  a  little  grass.  P.  M., 
start  and  ride  steadily,  leaving  river.  Always  over  sage  and 
desolate  country,  up  and  down  by  trail;  at  last  strike  old 
wagon  road  near  a  crossing.  Just  at  sunset  come  down 
upon  a  gushing  stream.  Moonrise  just  as  we  camp;  wild 
night  and  showers.    Feel  a  little  better.    Thirty-seven  miles. 

"Friday,  Sept.  16. —  Morning  lowering;  always  some 
anxiety  about  horses.  Indians,  seven  or  eight,  bring  sal- 
mon and  otter  skin.  I  give  a  shirt  for  a  salmon,  having 
no  powder.  We  start  late  and  ride  four  miles  to  the  river. 
Indians  on  other  side,  after  long  bother,  bring  over  a  ferry 
boat  and  we  cross,  sending  boy  over  with  horses.  Give 
Indians  flour.  Very  bare  country.  River  flows  through 
a  depression  in  the  surface  about  250  feet  deep,  a  rift  in  the 
trap.  We  ride  till  near  eight  and  come  down  to  Rock 
Creek.     Total  for  the  day,  41  miles. 

"Saturday,  Sept.  17. —  Rainy  when  we  get  up  and  make 
breakfast,  but  with  good  appetites  we  are  reasonably  jolly. 
Ride  in  drizzling  rain,  with  hills  in  sight  on  the  right.  Noon, 
weather  partially  clears;  windy  and  showers.  My  seat  is 
very  painful,  but  far  less  than  other  trouble.  Leave  camp 
and  ride  fast.  Weather  clears;  strong  wind.  Cross  sage 
moors,  and  strike  Snake  River,  which  still  runs  in  a  canyon. 
No  river  can  be  seen  at  short  distance.  Total  for  day,  46 
miles.  Sun  sets  clear  and  cold.  Wake  up  several  times. 
Moon  splendidly  brilliant,  but  almost  too  cold  to  look  out 
of  blankets. 

"Simday,  Sept.  18. —  Dawn  cold  and  clear;  ice  in  coffee 


pot;  hearty  breakfast  and  splendid,  bracing  air.  Come  to 
Snake  River  again.  Mountains  to  the  north  all  covered  with 
snow,  and  Goose  Creek  hills  sprinkled.  Very  pleasant 
warm  nooning,  and  feel  better.  Ride  till  after  sunset,  and 
camp  just  as  moon  rises.  Sunset  was  glorious,  with  clear, 
broad  light  over  the  great  level  stretch.  All  jolly,  and 
horses  travelling  well.  Total,  41  miles.  We  are  just  below 
the  ford  of  Snake  River,  and  on  the  bank.  Tomorrow, 
Fort  Hall. 

"Monday,  Sept.  19. —  Poor  grass  for  horses.  Morning 
cold  but  very  clear  and  fine.  Along  the  river  the  country 
improves.  A  little  less  sage  and  more  hills  with  bunch- 
grass.  Noon  on  the  river.  I  am  very  sore;  take  a  bath. 
The  day  is  splendid;  warm  sun  but  bracing  air.  At  last 
the  valley  of  the  Snake  opens  wide,  with  cotton-wood 
bottoms,  and  a  small  brown  spot  appears  in  distance.  We 
ride  fast;  descend  hill  and  ford  deep  Portneuf,  then  a  branch 
of  same,  and  over  a  long  grassy  meadow  to  the  old  adobe 
fort.  I  can  remember  this  without  description.  The  view 
from  the  balcony  was  glorious  in  its  style,  this  splendid 
evening,  with  broad  stretch  of  glowing  sunlight,  Italian  or 
Greek  radiance  in  the  air,  the  blue  peaks  in  the  northwest, 
and  blue  hills  in  south.  We  were  hospitably  received, 
but  in  the  absence  of  Mr.  Mc  A.  did  not  get  so  much  infor- 
mation. Captain  Grant  in  charge.  Feeling  well,  and  take 
a  long  nap;  but  blankets  on  floor  are  not  so  soft  as  on 
mother  earth. 

"Tuesday,  Sept.  20. —  Elisha  goes  after  prog,  and  Jake 
after  horses.  I  loaf.  Indians  drying  haws,  and  making 
them  into  mashed  cakes.  Get  dinner,  and  about  1  p.  m. 
ride  fast.  Again  ford  the  Portneuf;  across  sage  moor  and  up 
valley  of  Bannack.    A  perfect  day,  but  very  warm. 

"Wednesday,  Sept.  21. —  Rise  with  dawn.  Mule  has 
strayed,  but  still  we  get  a  good  start.  Leave  road,  and  up 
the  Bannack  between  bare  hills  and  over  grassy  bottom. 
Ride  very  fast.    Three  antelope  take  a  look  at  us  and  depart. 


Thirty-five  miles  this  morning.  Afternoon,  ride  fast  down 
the  valley,  which  opens  wider  into  an  extensive  basin  sur- 
rounded by  high  bare  hills,  sprinkled,  however,  with 
shrubby  trees.  Grass  good.  Camp  just  at  sunset.  Day's  total, 
60  miles  of  fast  and  hard  riding.  This  broad  valley,  with 
its  sharp  outline  of  hill  frame,  forms  a  striking  scene  as  the 
sun  goes  down  and  purples  the  hills;  each  cutting  bold 
and  bare  against  the  clear,  glowing  sky.  Quite  as  striking 
is  the  expanse  of  the  landscape  when  moonlit.  The  night 
is  clear  and  glorious.  Some  fears  of  Indians.  Today,  'pose 

"Thursday,  Sept.  22.  — My  birthday,  and  a  most 
propitious  morning,  brilliant  as  have  been  all  for  some  days. 
I  wake  and  call  the  boys  about  dawn,  help  cook  and  we 
start  with  good  spines.  The  valley  continues  as  before; 
small  swelling  ridges  seem  to  divide  it  into  basins.  Fine 
hills  for  sheep  range  on  the  left,  then  some  steeper  wooded. 
In  the  clear  air  the  higher  mountains  in  the  distance  are  very 
distinct  and  near.  Ride  steadier  and  faster  than  ever. 
Warm;  horses  still  fresh.  Noon  across  Bear  River,  26  miles. 
Jake  tells  story  of  man  eating  off  his  knee  who  would  not  take 
a  thousand  dollars  for  his  table.  These  passes  of  our  moun- 
tains are  not  like  the  awful  chasm  of  the  Naches.  We 
go  on  directly  under  the  mountains,  which  are  high  here  and 
bold,  and  light-colored  masses.  Join  California  mail,  and 
on  with  eighteen  animals,  jolly,  over  good  road  with  occa- 
sional bit  of  stone.  The  valley  improves,  and  first  house  or 
hut  appears,  with  crop  of  corn  just  in.  Streams  from  the 
hills  cross  the  road  at  intervals.  At  one  we  find  a  Dutch- 
man's house,  and  get  a  feast  of  watermelons  and  musk- 
melons.  Head  of  Apicius !  what  a  banquet!  Some  nice  green 
spots  on  the  hillside;  only  shrubs  along  the  stream.  The 
settlement  is  a  collection  of  stick  huts  plastered  with  mud, 
built  for  protection  from  Indians  like  a  fort  in  a  parallelo- 
gram; it  looks  worse  than  a  mean  Spanish  town,  but  they 
have  plenty  of  cattle  and  hay  and  full  bins.     Flour,  $6.00. 


We  have  at  table,  beets,  corn  and  potatoes.  The  village  is 
on  the  rising  ground  below  the  hills  —  two  terraces  on  the 

"Friday,  Sept.  23. —  The  active  young  women  bustle 
about  and  give  us  a  capital  breakfast.  There  is  a  little 
more  freedom  in  talk  than  there  would  be  out  of  the 
Mormon  ilihee.  We  start,  seven  men  strong,  about  ten 
o'clock,  and  ride  along  the  base  of  the  mountains.  Stop 
to  dine  near  Willow  Creek  Fort,  and  get  a  good  meal, — 
tomatoes,  steak,  and  a  fathomless  boiled  pudding.  At  Wil- 
low Creek  is  a  scattering  fort  (so  called).  Watermelons  and 
no  pay.  Fine  cattle;  valley  widens;  across  a  broad  plain, 
with  more  watermelons,  to  fort  of  Ogden;  cross  river  and 
come  to  a  village  with  adobes  of  better  style  than  we  have 
seen.  The  afternoon  has  been  splendid,  and  the  fine,  craggy 
mountains  very  bold.  They  appear  to  be  feldspathic  gran- 
ite, and  assume  picturesque  forms.  The  boys  stop  for  sup- 
per while  the  California  mail  goes  on.  We  get  not  much  of  a 
supper  at  Earle's.  Girl  drinks  toast  to  'Lishe':  Two 
pretty  wives  !'  No  young  men  appear  among  the  Mormons, 
who  seem  thus  far  to  be  just  what  Jake  said,  'the  scrubs  of 
the  states.'  Ogden  is  a  pleasant-looking  place,  and  the 
adobes  give  it  the  appearance  of  an  old  town.  They  are 
mostly  cottages,  but  a  few  are  two  story.  Just  at  dark 
we  start  again  and  take  the  mountain  road.  Fine  night, 
but  my  very  bad  condition  makes  me  melancholy  by  dis- 
comfort. We  stray  a  little,  and  at  last  a  light  appearing 
make  for  it.  'Lishe'  gets  separated  from  the  party.  We 
hail,  and  a  man  responds,  who  guides  us  to  the  settlement  of 
Weber.  Here  we  stop  with  a  down-easter,  a  Maine  man 
who  drove  his  team  to  Nauvoo  after  conversion.  He  re- 
members New  England  with  regret,  and  I  imagine  is  not 
profoundly  Mormon.  He  has  only  one  wife,  active,  but  bad- 
tempered,  and  scolds  her  badly-managed  children.  We  get 
away  early  in  the  morning,  and  riding  along  under  the  hills 
soon  see  the  Great  Salt  Lake,  brilliantly  blue  and  beautiful 


under  the  morning  sun,  the  bare  shores  and  mountain  is- 
lands remind  of  the  Mediterranean. 

"Saturday,  Sept.  24. —  Pass  a  group  of  hot  sulphur- 
ous wells.  At  every  step  is  a  fresh  stream  gushing  from 
the  hillside;  up  the  steep  ascents  go  the  difficult  roads  of  the 
wood-cutters.  The  frosts  have  just  tinged  the  bushes  high 
up  with  red,  and  they  contrast  brilliantly  with  the  green. 
Soon  we  come  down  to  the  level  of  the  lake,  and  strike  a  fine 
country,  with  closer  settlements  and  good  adobes.  It  pre- 
sents the  appearance  not  of  a  new,  but  of  an  old  agricultural 
country  in  decay,  the  want  of  timber  preventing  good  fenc- 
ing and  neat  houses.  See  some  English  people,  many  Welsh, 
and  a  few  Germans;  but  foreigners  are  naturally  not  so  easily 
reached  by  the  doctrine.  There  is  a  look  of  rustic  prosper- 
ity, however,  and  good  adobe  cottages  are  replacing  the  mud 
and  stick  structures  of  their  recent  yore.  But  the  popula- 
tion is  strictly  a  peasantry.  Leaving  this  fine  country,  we 
ride  still  very  fast  on  the  gallop  over  a  gravelly  reach,  and 
come  to  a  hill  where  a  hot,  salt,  sulphurous  spring  gushes 
out,  and  the  whole  air  is  filled  with  a  vapor  from  it. 

"Turning  this  hill  we  come  in  sight  of  higher  mountains 
backing  the  great  stretch  of  buildings  which  makes  the  city 
of  the  Great  Salt  Lake.  The  first  view  of  the  city  is  as- 
tonishing; indeed,  it  seems  as  large  as  a  metropolis.  The 
system  of  laying  out  large  lots,  each  one  and  a  quarter  acres, 
spreads  the  town  far  in  every  direction,  and  the  streets, 
which  are  laid  out  as  broad  as  avenues,  increase  this  extent. 
We  entered  by  one  of  these,  which  is  lined  with  young  cot- 
ton-wood trees.  A  fresh  stream  of  water  flows  through 
many  streets.  The  houses  have  a  little  shrubbery  and 
young  fruit  trees  about  them.  All  are  adobes.  The  town 
is  laid  out  in  squares  of  ten  acres.  Each  square  contains 
only  eight  lots.  The  lots  of  the  alternate  blocks  face  on  dif- 
ferent streets.  The  Indian  title  not  being  extinguished  in 
the  country,  no  land  can  be  sold;  but  it  has  been  occupied 
by  settlers,  without  authority  from  the  United  States,  each 

O  = 

o   = 

<  ^ 
o  e: 

"SHAM  SAINTS."  301 

settler  paying  for  the  survey  of  as  much  land  as  he  could  oc- 
cupy. The  town  seemed  very  bustling.  There  is  a  general 
Methodistical  air  about  the  people.  There  was  a  glorious 
sunset  through  clouds  down  upon  the  west  ridge.  The 
great  sweep  of  the  valley  is  westward,  and  now  the  sun  makes 
a  noble  horizon." 

Of  the  week  which  Winthrop  spent  at  Salt  Lake  City  the  Journal 
unfortunately  tells  us  nothing  more.  Had  he  completed  the  manuscript 
of  "Canoe  and  Saddle,"  this  portion  of  his  overland  trip  might  have 
been  related  more  fully.  In  its  last  chapter,  he  mentions  briefly  his 
meeting  with  Brigham  Young,  the  great  head  of  Mormonism,  whom 
he  found  to  be  "a  man  of  very  considerable  power,  practical  sense, 
and  administrative  ability."  A  report  of  that  interview  would  have 
made  good  reading. 

In  "John  Brent,"  Winthrop  intimates  that  his  time  at  Salt  Lake, 
was  largely  devoted  to  obtaining  the  rest  of  which  his  exhausting  trip 
from  the  Columbia  had  undoubtedly  left  him  in  need.  Resuming  his 
eastward  march  on  October  2,  in  company  with  the  California  mail, 
he  returned  to  his  daily  record;  and  from  this  time  until  his  arrival  at 
Fort  Laramie,  the  brief  entries  give  us  glimpses  of  the  country  and 
people  described  in  the  novel.  Many  of  the  immigrant  caravans  which 
he  meets  are  made  up  of  recruits  for  the  Mormon  Church,  and  his  notes 
about  these  converts  are  not  more  favorable  than  his  description  in 
'John  Brent,"  where  he  says: 

"In  the  full,  ripe  October,  with  its  golden,  slumberous  air,  we  rode 
through  the  bare  defiles  of  the  Wasatch  Mountains,  wall  of  Utah  on  the 
east.  We  passed  Echo  Canyon  and  the  other  straight  gates  and  rough 
ways  through  which  the  Later-Day  Saints  win  an  entrance  to  their 
Sion.  We  met  them  in  throngs,  hard  at  work  at  such  winning.  The 
summer  emigration  of  Mormons  was  beginning  to  come  in.  No  one 
would  have  admitted  their  claim  to  saintship  from  their  appearance. 
If  they  had  no  better  passport  than  their  garb,  'Avaunt!  Procul  este 
■prof anil'  would  have  cried  any  trustworthy  janitor  of  Sion.  Saints, 
if  I  know  them,  are  clean, —  are  not  ragged,  are  not  even  patched. 
Their  garments  renew  themselves,  shed  rain  like  mackintosh,  repel  dust, 
sweeten  unsavoriness.  These  sham  saints  needed  unlimited  scouring, 
persons  and  raiment.  We  passed  them,  when  we  could,  to  windward. 
Poor  creatures!    We  shall  see  more  of  their  kindred  anon." 

That  Winthrop's  account  of  the  Mormon  recruits  as  "sham  saints" 
did  many  of  them  little  injustice  is  made  clear  by  the  testimony  of  no 
less  an  authority  than  Brigham  Young  himself.  Complaining  that 
assisted  immigrants  failed  to  repay  advances  made  to  them.  Young 
said,  in  1855:    "And  what  will  they  do  when  they  get  here?    Steal  our 


wagons,  and  go  off  with  them  to  Canada;  and  try  to  steal  the  bake- 
kettles,  frying-pans,  tents,  and  wagon-covers.  They  will  borrow  the 
oxen  and  run  away  with  them,  if  you  do  not  watch  them  closely  Do 
they  all  do  this?  No,  but  many  of  them  will  try  to  do  it."  And  again: 
"What  previous  characters  some  of  you  had  in  Wales,  in  England,  in 
Scotland,  and  perhaps  in  Ireland!  Do  not  be  scared  if  it  is  proven  in 
the  Bishop's  court  that  you  did  steal  the  poles  from  your  neighbor's 
garden  fence."  In  an  address  in  Salt  Lake  City,  September,  1856, 
J.  M.  Grant  declared:  "You  can  scarcely  find  a  place  in  this  city  that 
is  not  full  of  filth  and  abominations." 

The  Mormon  campaign  in  Europe  was  then  at  its  height.  In  1853, 
says  Linn,  2,456  converts,  recruited  from  a  membership  of  30,747  Mor- 
mons in  the  United  Kingdom,  left  British  ports  bound  for  Utah.  Dur- 
ing the  fourteen  years  prior  to  1851,  according  to  the  report  of  the 
General  Conference  for  that  year,  more  than  50,000  converts  were 
baptized  in  England,  of  whom  nearly  17,000  had  "migrated  from  her 
shores  to  Zion."* 

We  continue  with  Winthrop: 

"Sunday,  October  2. —  At  11:30,  started  on  a  little  roan 
pony,  two  Californians  packing.  The  city  spread  out  in 
the  distance,  with  a  glimpse  of  the  Lake.  Up  the  bench, 
and  enter  the  canyon,  a  real  defile  through  the  mountains. 
Some  bushes  still  green  and  bright  in  color;  a  perfectly 
glorious  day,  hardly  too  warm.  I  am  in  tip-top  spirits. 
Up  a  very  high  hill,  and  down.  Camp;  no  grass,  but  wood 
and  best  of  water.  Splendid  evening,  and  a  jolly  camp. 
Fourteen  miles. 

"Monday,  October  3. —  Sharp  frost,  and  cold  night; 
not  much  sleep  Charley  calls  at  2  a.  m.;  up  at  daylight; 
capital  morning;  good  appetite,  and  start  at  6:45.  Up  the 
mountain,  very  steep,  with  view  back  upon  the  bare  moun- 
tains, and  a  glimpse  of  the  Salt  Lake  Valley.  Then  down 
a  descent  longer  and  more  gradual,  with  small  timber;  leaves 
changed  by  frost,  and  the  scene  rather  good.  Meet  trains, 
mostly  of  English  and  Welsh,  with  plenty  of  women.  Sam 
Caldwell  appears.  Noon  by  spring.  Some  green  English 
people  come  up  at  2  o'clock.     Four  miles  to  the  Weber; 

*Linn:    Story  of  the  Mormons,  253,  416,  442. 


the  valley  becomes  more  picturesque.  Cross  hill  and  down 
to  a  valley  where  the  road  becomes  level.  Travel  very 
fast  under  the  bare  hills  to  the  left;  the  bottom,  with  scanty 
cotton-wood,  is  like  Boise  River.  Remarkable  groups  of 
worn  rocks,  like  the  ruins  of  a  house,  set  on  a  hillside.  Soon 
begin  red  bluffs,  and  we  turn  to  the  left,  sharply  up  Echo 
Creek  canyon.  The  red  bluffs  of  conglomerate,  with  some 
oolite,  are  very  striking;  they  jut  out  precipitous,  with 
gullies  between.  The  highest  is  about  600  feet,  with  scanty 
cedar  bushes  on  top  and  side.  Some  are  actually  like  a  wall 
of  bright  red  brick.  I  turn  off  from  the  road  by  a  trail 
close  under  the  bluffs,  very  grand;  a  red  light  cast  over  the 
scene  by  the  setting  sun.  On  up  the  valley  the  bluffs  be- 
come lower.  Just  at  sunset,  we  came  to  a  little  bench.  The 
evening  is  again  glorious,  and  not  so  cold.  Hearty  supper; 
feeling  well  and  in  good  spirits. 

'Tuesday,  October  4. —  Trumpet  at  4:15.  A  jolly 
crowd  always.  The  long-haired  packer  is  a  type;  Caldwell 
ditto.  On  beef,  bread  and  coffee,  I  am  well  and  hearty. 
Ride  fast  up  the  canyon,  and  meet  a  large  train  of  Kin- 
kead's;  wagons  with  4,000  lbs.,  drawn  by  8  and  10  oxen. 
Freight  is  10  to  15  cents  a  pound.  Pass  large  train  of  Brit- 
ishers, who  look  comfortable,  the  women  walking.  All 
are  surprised  at  my  attire.  One  says:  'You  must  be  going 
to  be  married,  with  so  many  colors.'  They  have  the  air  of 
decayed  ladies'  maids,  with  the  atrocious  dresses  that  I  had 
wondered  at  in  their  mistresses  across  the  water.  I  give  a 
yell  and  rush  through.  Again  a  great  caravanserai  of  a 
camp,  and  all  press  around  curiously.  Up  long  hill,  and  camp 
at  capital  small  well  spring,  with  good  feed.  The  look  of 
the  whole  country  is  much  better  than  the  Snake  River; 
little  sage,  and  no  dust  of  moment.  Pinto  did  a  nice  twenty- 
two  miles  this  morning.  Started  at  1  p.  m.;  up  a  hill,  and 
have  view  of  distant  ridge,  snowy,  fresh;  then  down  a  steep 
descent  and  over  a  splendid  road.  Always  plain;  not  a  tree. 
Cross  Bear  River,  very  clear  and  fine,  nearly  belly  deep. 


After  crossing,  wind  among  hills,  always  keeping  up  pretty- 
good  speed,  and  up  high  hill  to  camp  by  a  deep  spring  at 
5  o'clock. 

"Wednesday,  October  5. —  Up  early  to  warm.  Horses 
gone;  we  all  go  in  search.  Off  at  10:30,  with  Sam  Caldwell, 
and  come  down  to  Delaware  Camp.  Then  meet  wagons 
and  plenty  of  cattle.  We  ride  very  fast  for  an  hour,  up 
and  down.  See  an  antelope.  Come  in  sight  of  Bridger* 
bottom.  Find  detachment  of  valley  troops.  A  larger  camp 
of  Britishers  come  in  and  form  a  big  corral.  They  look 
in  good  trim,  and  except  the  matter-of-course  grumb- 
ling, seem  in  pretty  good  spirits.  The  women  have  a  look 
of  shabby  gentility,  very  different  from  the  homespun  of 
Pike  County.  They  come  generally  from  the  Midland  coun- 
ties of  England,  and  number  500  emigrants.  In  the  evening, 
Sam,  'maintain  man,'  gets  up  a  dance,  and  they  have  a 
jolly  time.  There  is  one  very  pretty  little  girl.  Hanks 
dresses  up  as  Old  King  Cole.  The  waltzing  keeps  up  till 

"Thursday,  October  6. —  Capital  morning.  Cummins, 
the  captain  of  the  squad,  calls  in  our  camp,  and  makes  a 
speech;  singular  mixture  of  good  sense,  boasting  and  fanati- 
cism. Calls  Walker  'Brother  Walker;'  stirred  up  by  the 
Almighty  to  revenge  their  not  taking  care  of  themselves, 
and  to  punish  if  tithes  are  not  paid.  Horses  gone,  and  we 
do  not  start  till  12.  Cross  Black's  Fork.  Camp  by  Haines 
Fork  at  8:30;  313^  miles. 

"Friday,  October  7. —  Start  early.  Shoot  at  a  coyote. 
Ride  with  no  water  to  Green  River.      Cross  at  12:40,  Pilot 

*Col.  James  Bridger,  a  celebrated  frontier  character,  who  discovered 
the  Great  Salt  Lake  in  1824,  had  built  a  "fort"  or  trading  post  on  the 
Green  River.  Orson  Pratt,  one  of  the  Mormon  leaders,  describes  this 
fort  as  made  up  of  "two  adjoining  log  houses,  dirt  roofs,  and  a  small 
picket  yard  of  logs  set  in  the  ground,  and  about  eight  feet  high." 

Bridger  had  been  an  old  hunter,  trapper,  and  by  and  by  that  for- 
lorn hope  of  civiHzation,  the  holder  of  an  Indian  trading  post.  It  was 
there  that  that  miserable  bungle  of  an  administration  more  fool,  if 
possible,  than  knave, —  the  Mormon  Expedition  in  1858, —  took  refuge. 
—  Winthrop:    John  Brent,  360. 

O   t« 

u  o  *= 

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c  o  _-  o 

a  •"  >ai 

'     .-S  (COT 

[  .5      S  « 

01  o  :3 

j2  ^  -^  " 

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-^    u  C  o  © 


2  ""S  o 

c  >  c5 
t*  o  3  a 


g    -    OJ 

o  ci  S 




Knob  to  right,  in  desert  country.  Wind  River  Mountains 
in  distance,  with  slight  snow.  Great  elevation  of  table- 
land gives  them  less  height.  Timber  on  the  sides;  summit 
bare.  The  desert  is  grand,  fresh,  always  invigorating  and 
inspiring.  Cross  Big  Sandy,  and  ride  fast  across  Little 
Sandy.     Camp  at  10:30  p.  m. 

"Saturday,  October  8. —  Country  more  and  more  desert. 
Twenty  miles  to  Pacific  Spring,  and  commence  South  Pass, 

Carved  Seated  Figure  holding  Dish;  made  of  Steatite. 

a  gradual  ascent  that  an  alderman  might  run  up  after  din- 
ner. There  is  no  timber,  and  the  pass  is  a  broad,  massive 
backbone  of  a  continent.  The  ascent  from  Pacific  Springs 
is  very  gradual;  could  trot  the  whole  way,  about  four  miles. 
At  top  is  a  sort  of  circular  dry  basin,  with  short  grass. 
The  actual  summit  is  hardly  perceptible,  and  we  travel 
for  some  time  along  a  sort  of  table-land.  Wind  River 
Mountains  look  better  on  the  side.  Strike  Sweetwater, 
clear  and  fresh.  Rising  one  long  hill,  and  looking  back, 
the  great  sweep  of  country  is  fine,  and  the  two  table-like 


buttes,  with  break,  are  striking  landmarks.  Camp  on 

"Sunday,  October  9. —  Requires  courage  to  get  up  these 
frosty  mornings.  Mount  a  mouse-colored  macho,  Ratlett.  * 
Over  a  long  expanse  of  desolation.  The  Wind  River  Moun- 
tains show  more  snow  on  this  side.  The  road  and  the  coun- 
try generally  are  white  with  alkali,  dazzling  the  eyes.  Macho 
requires  beating,  then  goes  pretty  well.  He  gives  out. 
See  herd  of  antelope.  Camp  at  10  p.  m.  Beast  comes  up 
in  the   morning. 

"Monday,  October  10. —  Roll  on  in  wagon,  and  reach 
S.  Lajeunesse's  fort;  forms  three  sides  of  a  square.  Walk 
a  mile  to  Devil's  Gate.  This  I  shall  not  forget.  On  in  wagon 
through  the  mountains  to  right  of  the  Gate,  through  which 
I  get  a  glimpse  of  the  plains  beyond.  The  Indians  some- 
times drive  buffalo  down  this  pass,  and  kill  them  in  great 
numbers.  The  view  here  is  more  than  interesting;  the  gran- 
ite ridges  break  the  monotony  of  the  level.  The  lights 
are  very  fine,  as  sunset  comes  on,  glorious,  and  the  moon 
rises.  Camp  about  seven  on  Greasewood  Creek,  near 
Independence  Rock,  a  round  granite  pile,  isolated  and  rising 
steep  about  100  feet.  At  Archambault's  good  log  house, 
I  buy  two  antelope  skins  at  $1.  We  had  fried  antelope  for 
supper;  tough. 

"Tuesday,  October  11. —  Morning  fine.  Camped  at 
noon  on  Fish  Creek,  fourteen  miles  from  Devil's  Gate,  which 
we  can  still  see.  Bridger  comes  up  and  talks  big;  a  long 
and  resultless  discussion  about  Mormonism.  On  a  hard- 
trotting  iron  grey  horse,  I  suffer  agonies;  up  and  down 
very  fast.  Call  the  horse  Duretrot.  He  bounces  the  bliss 
out  of  me.  Nothing  can  be  finer  than  these  nights,  and 
the  broad  sweep  of  soft  light  over  the  desert,  whose  bar- 
renness it  tones  down.  We  have  been  rattling  down  hill 
at  a  slapping  pace,  and  at  last,  at  10  p.  m.,  the  Platte  comes 
in  sight. 

*  Macho,  (Spanish)  a  he  mule. —  Standard  Dictionary. 


"Wednesday,  October  12. —  Eph  rides  on  for  a  horse  for 
me,  and  I  drive  six  miles  to  the  bridge.  Get  prog,  but  no 
swop  critter.  Hence  I  take  a  mule;  easy  but  slow.  Down 
the  Platte  Valley,  and  camp  sixteen  miles  at  11  o'clock, 
in  an  ice  cotton-wood  grove  on  the  river.  The  country 
begins  to  realize  my  idea  of  this  prairie.  The  Platte  is 
beautifully  blue  through  the  sand.  The  cotton- woods  with 
their  scanty  yellow  leaves  look  quite  wintry.  Come  among 
the  hills;  nothing  of  notice.  Ride  with  very  fine  moon  at 
night.  Camp  on  Little  Deer  Creek  at  11  p.  m.  I  am  tired, 
but  the  last  mule  was  prime. 

"Thursday,  October  13. —  Among  the  Black  Hills,  up 
and  down,  with  sweeping  views  over  the  valley,  and  among 
scattered  cedars  like  that  of  the  Naches.  Laramie  Peak 
on  the  right  is  a  fine,  bold  mountain,  dark  with  trees.  Prai- 
rie dotted  with  herds  of  buffalo.  Buffalo  beef  same  to 
other  beef  that  venison  is  to  mutton.  I  walk  along  with 
pistol,  and  get  within  100  yards  of  herd.  Have  first  good 
view  of  these  animals.  Over  the  rump  the  hair  is  lighter, 
so  as  to  form  a  complete  stripe  division  from  the  short 
hair  of  the  quarters.  I  fire  at  random;  they  run,  then  turn 
and  look,  and  turn  and  look  again. 

"Friday,  October  14. —  Start  at  8,  and  drive  slowly  to 
the  Fort.  The  squaws  have  a  party  at  a  buffalo-skin  lodge 
for  Garnett.*  Sell  my  saddle  to  Francois.  Pleasant  day 
with  Garnett;  splendid  bed,  with  robes,  etc.  All  very  kind 
and  pleasant.    Beautiful  sunset." 

The  remaining  entries  are  very  brief  and  fragmentary.  Leaving 
Fort  Laramie  on  October  15,  Winthrop  reached  the  South  Fork  of  the 
Platte  on  the  18th.  Four  days  later,  the  party  had  an  exciting  experi- 
ence in  fighting  a  prairie  fire.  On  the  24th,  they  crossed  the  Big  Blue 
River.  The  next  day  brought  them  to  the  Black  Vermilion,  in  north- 
eastern Kansas.    Here  the  entries  stop  short,  with  a  characteristic  bit 

*Lieut.  Richard  Brooke  Garnett,  Sixth  Infantry,  then  temporarily 
in  command  at  Fort  Laramie.  During  the  Civil  War,  he  rose  to  the 
rank  of  Brigadier  General,  and  was  killed  at  Gettysburg. 


of  philosophy,  in  which,  quite  casually,  our  young  author  points  the 
moral  of  his  half-year's  excursion  into  the  wild: 

"  Wheel  of  new  wagon  breaks.    The  lesson  of  patience 
and  self-containing  may  be  learnt  in  these  trips." 

Winthrop's  Grave,  in  the  New  Haven  Cemetery. 




Winthrop's  insistence  upon  the  Indian  name  of  the  mountain,  as 
well  as  his  great  interest  in  the  mountain  itself,  makes  proper  some 
notice  of  the  history  of  the  peak.  The  story  recalls  one  of  the  most 
famous  neighborhood  rows  in  the  annals  of  American  cities.  The  quarrel 
of  St.  Louis  and  Chicago  and  that  between  the  Twin  Cities  of  Minne- 
sota were  never  more  bitter.  A  well-known  humorist,  praising  the 
salubrious  climate  of  Tacoma,  declared  that  the  only  occupants  of 
Tacoma  cemeteries  were  Seattle  people  who,  while  visiting  the  "City 
of  Destiny,"  had  inadvertently  alluded  to  "Mount  Rainier!" 

The  old  quarrel  has  lost  its  venom.  The  people  of  Tacoma  find 
satisfaction  in  the  growing  sentiment  among  geographers,  scholars  and 
writers  everywhere  against  the  historical  absurdity  of  "Mount  Rainier;" 
those  of  Seattle,  so  far  as  they  know  the  facts,  have  grown  rather  ashamed 
of  that  unpatriotic  name,  and  are  proposing  to  compromise  by  renam- 
ing the  mountain  "Tahoma."  Hence  it  may  be  possible  to  tell  the 
facts  about  the  mountain's  names  without  offense.  There  are  some 
misconceptions  on  each  side. 

The  author's  error  on  page  37  as  to  the  name  given  by  the  whites 
was  not  an  uncommon  one  in  his  time,  and  has  persisted  till  our  own, 
even  among  those  who  should  know  better.  In  his  diary  and  letters, 
Winthrop  uses  "Mount  Rainier,"  the  only  name  then  current  among 
the  whites;  but  his  statement  on  the  page  mentioned  indicates,  no  doubt, 
that  he  thought  "Regnier"  the  original  or  proper  form.  His  assertion 
that  this  "perpetuates  the  name  of  somebody  or  nobody"  also  shows 
that  he  was  ignorant  of  its  origin. 

The  fact  which  Winthrop  had  not  learned  is  now  known  to  nearly 
everybody  in  the  Northwest.  Yet  we  still  hear  it  asserted  that  the 
name  of  the  British  admiral  whom  the  explorer  Vancouver  honored 
was  actually  "Reginier."  A  recent  scholarly  history  of  the  State  of 
Washington,  which  in  most  matters  is  accurate  and  trustworthy,  even 
says  that  Vancouver  himself,  in  his  journal,  spells  the  name  in  that 


fashion.  Such  mistakes  it  may  be  worth  while  to  correct  on  authori- 
tative testimony,  namely,  that  of  Vancouver's  journal  itself  and  the 
records  of  the  British  Admiralty. 

Captain  Vancouver's  account  of  his  great  exploration,  published  in 
1798,  after  his  death,  under  the  title  "Voyage  of  Discovery  to  the  North 
Pacific  Ocean  and  around  the  World,"  tells  us  that  in  the  spring  of  1792, 
soon  after  he  sailed  up  the  Strait  of  Fuca,  he  discovered  "a  remark- 
ably high  round  mountain,  covered  with  snow,  apparently  at  the  south- 
ern extremity  of  the  distant  snowy  range."  Making  no  inquiry  as  to 
the  Indian  names,  he  had  already  honored  his  third  lieutenant,  young 
Mr.  Baker,  by  placing  his  name  on  the  peak  which  the  Indians  called 
by  the  splendid  name  "Kulshan."  A  few  days  later,  on  May  7,  he 
notes  that  he  has  also  given  a  name  to  the  greater  peak:  "The  round 
snowy  mountain  now  forming  the  southern  extremity,  and  which, 
after  my  friend  Rear  Admiral  Rainier,  I  distinguished  by  the  name  of 
Mount  Rainier,  bore  N  42  E." 

I  have  examined  the  several  early  editions  of  Vancouver's  work, 
beginning  with  the  first  and  including  the  French  reprint,  and  in  none 
of  them  does  the  spelling  "Regnier"  appear,  either  in  the  text  or  upon 
the  maps  which  accompany  it.  Examination  of  British  naval  histories 
and  biographical  dictionaries  also  fails  to  show  anything  different 
from  Vancouver's  spelling.  They  indeed  mention  the  well-known 
fact  that  Admiral  Peter  Rainier's  grandfather  was  Daniel  Regnier,  a 
Huguenot  refugee,  who  fled  to  England  late  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
after  the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes.  There  he  prospered,  and 
there  the  family  name  seems  to  have  been  anglicized  into  "Rainier" 
soon  after  the  migration  from  France, —  certainly  before  young  Peter 
Rainier,  the  grandson,  entered  the  Navy,  during  the  reign  of  George  II. 
This  is  established  by  the  following  letter  from  the  Admiralty,  which 
answers  my  inquiry  regarding  the  name  by  which  he  was  carried 
on  the  rolls  of  the  Navy,  and  covers  the  whole  period  of  his  service, 
from  his  enrollment  in  1756  to  his  retirement  with  the  rank  of  Vice 
Admiral  in  1799: 

"The  Secretary, 
London,  S.  W.  6th  August,   1913. 


"In  reply  to  your  letter  of  the  11th  ultimo  inquiring  whether 
Admiral  Peter  Rainier's  name  ever  appears  in  the  Navy  records  as 
Regnier,  I  am  commanded  by  My  Lords  Commissioners  of  the  Admi- 
ralty to  acquaint  you  that,  between  the  dates  of  this  Officer's  entry 
into  the  Navy  (1756)  and  of  his  promotion  to  Lieutenant  (26th  May, 
1768),  his  name  appears  on  the  Ship's  Books  of  His  Majesty's  Ships 


in  which  he  was  borne  as  Rainier  and  Ranier,  and  that  from  the  latter 
date  the  name  appears  in  the  Sea  Officers'  List  as  Rainier. 

"The  spelling  Regnier  nowhere  appears. 

"I  am,  Sir, 
Your  obedient  Servant, 
"J.  H.  Williams,  Esq.  W.  Graham  Greene." 

These  quotations  dispose  of  the  assertion  that  the  mountain  was 
named  "Mount  Regnier."  Winthrop's  mistake  seems  to  have  been 
an  honest  one,  but  for  later  errors  of  the  sort  there  is  less  excuse,  as 
Vancouver's  "Voyage"  is  in  all  our  public  libraries  and  the  passages 
cited  above  have  been  quoted  in  nearly  every  newspaper  and  maga- 
zine published  in  the  West.  Those  who  hope  to  see  the  ancient  Indian 
name  restored  to  our  maps  —  and  of  these  I  am  one  —  will  not  gain 
their  end  by  misrepresenting  the  name  given  by  Vancouver,  any  more 
than  those  who  are  interested  in  tourist  travel  will  induce  tourists  to 
visit  the  mountain  by  misstating  its  height,  as  some  organizations 
continue  to  do,  in  spite  of  government  surveys,  the  Dictionary  of  Alti- 
tudes and  other  well-known  authorities. 

"Mountains,"  avers  Winthrop,  "should  not  be  insulted  by  being 
named  after  undistinguished  bipeds."  Whether  the  man  whom  Van- 
couver bestowed  upon  this  mountain  as  a  godfather  for  its  rechristening 
falls  in  that  category  must  be  left  to  the  facts.  England's  great  national 
compendium,  the  "Encyclopedia  Britannica,"  has  been  unable  to  find 
room  for  an  account  of  him;  even  its  index  fails  to  mention  his  name. 
Certainly,  then,  he  must  be  held  "undistinguished"  in  his  own  land. 
In  American  history,  he  appears  on  no  field  of  exploration  or  progress. 
It  is  not  till  we  reach  the  footnotes  to  the  chronicles  of  our  infant  Navy 
that  we  find  him,  during  the  American  Revolution,  in  command  of  two 
British  ships  of  war,  with  which  he  captured  the  brig  "Polly,"  a  priva- 
teer commissioned,  I  believe,  by  the  State  of  South  Carolina. 

Vancouver's  friend,  no  doubt,  was  a  good  fighting  man  in  his  day. 
Allen's  "Battles  of  the  British  Navy"  (London,  1872)  gives  this  story 
of  the  hard-fought  but  unequal  fight  that  won  Rainier  promotion 
and  such  fame  as  his  own  day  awarded  him: 

"On  the  8th  of  July,  1788,  the  14-gun  ship  Ostrich,  Commander  Peter 
Rainier,  on  the  Jamaica  station,  in  company  with  the  10-gun  armed 
brig  Lowestoffe's  Prize,  chased  a  large  brig.  After  a  long  run,  the  Os- 
trich brought  the  brig,  which  was  the  American  privateer  Polly,  to  action, 
and,  after  an  engagement  of  three  hours'  duration  (by  which  time  the 
Lowestoffe's  Prize  had  arrived  up  and  taken  part  in  the  contest),  com- 
pelled her  to  surrender.  *  *  *  Captain  Rainier  was  wounded  by 
a  musket  ball  through  the  left  breast;  he  could  not,  however,  be  pre- 
vailed upon  to  go  below,  but  remained  on  deck  till  the  close  of  the  action. 
He  was  posted,  and  appointed  to  command  the  64-gun  ship  Burford." 



It  will  be  remembered,  in  connection  with  the  names  that  Vancou- 
ver plastered  so  thickly  over  our  northwestern  landscape,  that  these 
were  designed  to  mark  his  attempted  annexation  of  the  country  to  the 
realm  of  George  III.  The  explorer  records  his  commemoration  of  the 
king's  birthday,  which  he  celebrated  by  "taking  formal  possession  of 


all  the  countries  we  had  lately  been  employed  in  exploring  in  the  name  of, 
and  for,  his  Britannic  Majesty,  his  heirs  and  successors." 

Nor  can  we  forget  that  Vancouver,  too,  after  he  had  failed  to  dis- 
cover the  Columbia  River,  sent  his  lieutenant,  Mr.  Broughton,  to 
explore  it  and  take  possession  for  the  king;  and  that  he  then  tried  to 
rob  the  Yankee  sailor,  Robert  Gray,  of  the  honor  of  his  discovery, 
declaring  his  belief  that  "subjects  of  no  other  civilized  nation  or  state 
had  ever  entered  the  river  before,"  and  that  "it  does  not  appear  that 
Mr.  Gray  either  saw,  or  was  within  five  leagues  of,  its  entrance."  Van- 
couver is  hardly  a  fit  subject  for  American  hero-worship. 


Defenders  of  the  name  "Mount  Rainier"  have  made  much  of  the 
alleged  right  of  Vancouver,  as  the  discoverer  of  the  mountain,  to  name 
it.  A  man  of  Winthrop's  patriotism  would  have  been  amused  by  the 
sophistry  of  this  argument.  Although  apparently  he  was  not  acquainted 
with  Vancouver's  book,  he  has  not  left  us  in  doubt  as  to  his  reply  to  such 
a  claim  made  on  the  explorer's  behalf,  "Vancouver  might  name  the 
northwestern  landmarks  what  he  pleased,"  he  would  have  said,  "but 
his  names,  given  to  establish  the  British  title,  cannot  bind  Americans. 
We  have  repudiated  the  British  claim  of  sovereignty,  based  on  his 
exploration.  Equally,  we  repudiate  his  right  to  deprive  us  of  such 
unique  and  significant  place-names  as  'Tacoma,'  'Kulshan'  and  'Whulge,' 
given  by  the  primitive  Americans  who  inhabited  the  land.  Our  obli- 
gation is  to  our  own  history.  It  binds  us,  first,  to  preserve  the  native 
names,  where  these  have  beauty  and  worth.  In  the  absence  of  such 
names,  if  we  must  call  any  of  our  landmarks  after  individuals,  we  have 
some  heroes  of  our  own  whose  service  to  the  country  and  the  world 
entitles  them  to. this  honor." 

Without  mentioning  Vancouver,  this  is  indeed  the  burden  of  Win- 
throp's argument  for  the  native  names.  They  are  unique  and  beautiful; 
they  are  part  of  the  history  of  the  land;  respect  to  our  own  environ- 
ment and  a  proper  regard  for  its  traditions  call  upon  us  to  see  that  they 
be  not  displaced  to  commemorate  "somebody  or  nobody,"  be  he  Smith 
or  Jones  or  Brown, — "Mr.  Baker,"  or  "Mr.  Puget,"  or  "my  friend 
Admiral  Rainier."  Winthrop's  argument  merely  anticipated  the  modern 
movement,  which  is  growing  in  all  parts  of  the  country,  for  the  preser- 
vation of  native  place-names.  This  is  a  movement  inspired  alike  by 
patriotism  and  by  the  historic  sense,  and  its  value  to  the  country  is 
more  and  more  commanding  the  support  of  thoughtful  men  everywhere. 

The  publication  of  Vancouver's  work  placed  the  name  "Mount 
Rainier"  on  British  maps,  from  which  it  was  copied  upon  American 
maps  for  sixty  years  and  more,  or  until  the  publication  of  Winthrop's 
book,  in  1862.  "The  Canoe  and  the  Saddle"  was  the  first  popular 
book  to  recognize  the  Indian  name  for  the  great  mountain  of  the  North- 
west, and  to  call  for  its  restoration.  Its  appearance  here,  indeed,  is 
often  said  to  have  been  its  first  use  in  print.  Winthrop  has  even  been 
called  the  inventor  of  the  word  "Tacoma."  Neither  of  these  statements 
is  correct.  The  United  States  Government  anticipated  our  author 
in  recognition  of  the  name.  One  of  its  gunboats  bore  it,  in  the  equiv- 
alent form  "Tahoma,"  for  a  year  before  "Canoe  and  Saddle"  was 
published.  There  is  abundant  evidence  for  the  authenticity  of  the 
name  as  an  Indian  word,  and  for  the  fact  that  it  was  the  Ancient  In- 
dian name  for  this  mountain. 

The  new  book,  however,  with  its  large  circulation,  made  the  name 


generally  known  to  the  country,  and  especially  gave  it  a  vogue  in  the 
young  Northwest.  During  the  next  thirty  years  American  and  foreign 
books  of  geography  and  travel  increasingly  used  it,  and  a  long  list  of 
such  works  might  be  compiled.  Curiously  enough,  two  Washingtons, 
the  National  Capital  and  the  Territory,  adopted  it,  the  latter  at  one 
time  considering  the  substitution  of  it  for  the  name  originally  selected. 
In  the  District  of  Columbia,  it  became  the  name  of  a  suburb,  Takoma 
Park.  In  Olympia,  the  capital  of  the  Territory,  it  gave  a  title  to  an 
early  lodge  of  the  Good  Templars,  and  later  to  a  hotel.  In  1866  a  move- 
ment was  started  to  rename  the  Territory,  using  the  Indian  name  of 
the  mountain.  This  found  many  supporters  in  the  East,  one  of  the 
most  active,  I  am  informed,  being  the  eminent  lawyer,  David  Dudley 
Field.  The  movement  came  to  nothing,  however,  owing  to  jealousies 
born  of  the  founding  of  a  town  called  Tacoma,  and  its  selection  as  the 
western  terminus  of  the  Northern  Pacific  Railway.  Had  there  been  no 
city  of  Tacoma,  there  would  doubtless  be  no  "Mount  Rainier"  on  the 
map  today. 

The  authenticity  of  "Tacoma"  as  the  name  of  the  mountain  is  now 
fully  established  by  the  investigations  of  Indian  philologists.  Occasion- 
ally, as  I  have  said,  this  has  been  called  an  invention  of  Winthrop's; 
at  other  times,  it  is  alleged  to  be  Chinook  jargon;  and  still  again  the 
form  "Tahoma"  is  said  to  be  the  correct  name  for  the  mountain. 

As  to  the  last  statement,  let  it  be  said  at  once  that  "Tahoma"  is 
just  as  correct  a  rendering  of  the  Indian  name  as  "Tacoma,"  and  no 
more.  Neither  form  exactly  reproduces  an  Indian's  choking,  retching 
pronunciation  of  his  combination  of  gutterals, — "Tachk-ho-mah." 
Both  approximate  it  more  nearly  in  fact  than  most  of  our  place-names 
of  Indian  origin  resemble  their  originals.  The  spelling  of  all  Indian 
words  is  phonetic,  of  course,  and  those  who  know  by  observation  the 
defective  linguistic  equipment  of  the  siwash  will  understand  the  diffi- 
culty of  putting  his  vocal  sounds  on  paper.  Further,  different  tribal 
dialects  had  different  forms  of  the  name  in  question.  The  root  of  them 
all  is  "ko"  or  "ho,"  meaning  water,  snow, —  that  is,  fresh  water,  as 
distinguished  from  salt  water,  "hwulch"  (Winthrop's  "Whulge").  Hence 
"Tacoma"  and  "Tahoma"  are  merely  alternatives  of  the  same  word, 
just  as  "Nook  Lummi"  and  Nooh  Lummi"  mean  the  same.* 

Neither  is  "Tacoma"  a  concoction  of  the  Chinook  jargon.  It  is 
found  in  none  of  the  vocabularies,  although  the  similar  form  "T'kope," 
meaning  white,  is  found  there,  as  also  in  the  Chinook  language  proper. 
This  is  in  fact,  practically  the  same  word,  because  the  Indian  dialects 
frequently  interchange  the  labials  b  and  p  with  their  cousin  m. 

The  charge  that  Winthrop  invented  the  name  was  never  heard  until 

*  See   Dr.   Buchanan's  explanation,   page  264  note. 


after  the  little  sawmill  hamlet  Tacoma  had  won  the  coveted  prize  from 
its  older  and  larger  neighbors,  and  was  selected  in  1872  as  the  terminus 
of  the  long-expected  railway.  Prior  to  the  coming  of  the  Northern 
Pacific  and  the  neighborhood  jealousies  it  bred,  no  one  in  the  Territory 
questioned  the  authenticity  of  the  name.  Thus  the  Seattle  Intelligencer, 
on  November  23,  1868,  announced  that  the  founders  of  the  new  town 
on  Commencement  Bay  had  named  it  "Tacoma,  after  the  Indian  name 
of  Mount  Rainier."  This  was  matter  of  common  knowledge  then, 
and  undisputed. 

Winthrop  was  a  genuine  and  scholarly  student  of  the  dialects,  and 
not  an  inventor  of  pseudo-siwash  place-names.  His  advocacy  of  "Kul- 
shan"  and  "Whulge"  was  based  on  fact,  and  his  insistence  upon  "Taco- 
ma" had  behind  it  the  general  usage  of  the  tribes,  and  the  knowledge 
of  those  white  men  who  studied  the  Indian  speech.  The  most  import- 
ant of  these  investigators  was  Dr.  George  Gibbs,  the  geologist  and 
ethnologist  of  the  McClellan  survey.  Gibbs  remained  in  the  Territory 
until  shortly  before  the  Civil  War,  engaged  with  the  Boundary  Com- 
mission and  in  other  government  service.  Then  he  returned  to  Wash- 
ington D.  C,  where  he  organized  the  ethnological  work  of  the  Smith- 
sonian Institution.  During  his  stay  here,  he  compiled  his  "Dictionary 
of  the  Chinook  Jargon,"  which  is  the  basis  of  all  later  works  of  the  sort, 
and  also  vocabularies  of  a  score  of  distinct  Indian  languages.  His 
industry  and  thoroughness  are  well  described  by  General  Hodges  and 
Colonel  Allen.*  Our  country  owes  a  large  debt  to  this  unassuming 
but  brilliant  scientist. 

Gibbs's  vocabularies  furnish  what  Snowden  has  called  "the  best  evi- 
dence to  support  Winthrop's  representation  as  to  the  name."  In  that  of 
the  VvMnatsha ( Wenatchee)  dialect,  Gibbs  entered:  "T'koma,  snow-peak," 
and  in  the  Niskwalli  CNisqually)  list  he  has:  "Takob,  the  name  of  Mt. 
Rainier."t  These  definitions  exactly  coincide  with  Winthrop's  state- 
ment (page  36),  that  "Tacoma"  was  not  only  used  generically  for  all 
snow-peaks,  but  emphatically  for  the  greatest  of  them  known  to  the 
siwash  tribes.  Those  who  are  familiar  with  the  Indian's  method  of 
stretching  his  limited  vocabulary  by  means  of  emphasis  and  prolong- 
ation to  make  a  word  do  unlimited  service,  will  understand  that  "tako- 
ma,"  pronounced  without  emphasis,  meant  any  snowy  mountain, 
while  prolonged,  "Ta-ko-o-o-ma,"  it  meant  the  great  chief  of  the  moun- 

*  See  Appendix  C  and  D,  following. 

t  The  fact,  which  Gibbs  points  out,  that  b  and  m  are  often  interchanged 
makes  "Takob"  equivalent  to  "Takom." 

%  See  Dr.  Buchanan's  explanation,  quoted  on  page  223;  also  that  of  General 
Hazard  Stevens,  p.  40  n. 


But  other  evidence  that  the  Indian  name  for  the  mountain  was 
well  known  before  Winthrop's  book  was  published  has  recently  come 
to  my  attention.  In  the  Civil  War  Diary  of  Gideon  Welles,  President 
Lincoln's  Secretary  of  the  Navy  says,  on  July  15,  1864:  "Mr.  Faxon, 
my  chief  clerk,  is  ill,  and  leaves  for  New  York  on  the  Tacoma."  Curi- 
ously, Mr,  Welles,  in  this  entry,  testified  to  the  influence  of  "Canoe 
and  Saddle,"  which  he  had  no  doubt  read,  and  which  left  this  form  of 
the  name  in  his  mind.  The  real  name  of  the  vessel  referred  to  was  "Ta- 
homa."  For  her  record  I  am  indebted  to  Mr.  Charles  W.  Stewart, 
librarian  of  the  Navy  Department.    Mr.  Stewart  writes: 

"After  some  search,  we  find  that  two  vessels  have  borne  the  name 
about  which  you  inquire:  (1)  the  TAHOMA,  4th-class  gunboat,  built 
at  Wilmington,  Del.,  by  W.  &  A.  Thatcher;  launched  Oct.  2,  1861; 
commissioned  Dec.  20,  1861,  and  sent  to  the  East  Gulf  Squadron;  (2) 
the  protected  cruiser  TACOMA,  built  at  the  Union  Iron  Works,  San 
Francisco,  commissioned  Jan.  30,  1904. 

"From  the  Tahoma's  log,  we  learn  that  on  July  16,  1864,  Mr.  Faxon, 
chief  clerk  of  the  Navy  Department,  came  on  board  at  the  Washington 
Navy  Yard,  whence  the  vessel  went  to  New  York  for  repairs.  The 
vessel  was  sold  at  New  York  Oct.  1,  1867,  for  $13,000. 

"We  have  not  found  anything  of  record  as  to  the  choice  of  the  name 
'  Tahoma.'  The  giving  of  Indian  names  to  a  certain  class  of  vessels 
was  a  custom  in  the  first  years  of  the  Civil  War,  and  it  became  a  settled 
policy  with  Assistant  Secretary  Fox  to  continue  this  practice.  There 
was  probably  no  particular  reason  for  this,  except  that  Indian  names 
were  considered  to  be  exclusively  American.  In  the  appendix  to  'The 
Blockade  and  the  Cruisers,'  by  Prof.  James  R.  Soley,  you  will  find  a 
large  number  of  vessels  built  during  the  War  with  Indian  names." 

Here,  then,  is  testimony  to  the  authenticity  of  the  name  from  Uncle 
Sam,  whose  character  as  a  witness  is  seldom  impeached.  The  true 
explanation  of  his  use  of  it  is  doubtless  that  given  by  General  Hodges: 

"In  early  days  there  were  ships  of  our  Navy  in  Puget  Sound,  and  it 
is  likely  the  officers  knew  the  name  which  the  Indians  gave  to  Mt. 
Rainier,  and  when  opportunity  offered  that  name  was  selected.  A 
fine  name,  too!"* 

Thus  clearly  is  the  fact  established  which  Winthrop  stated,  but 
which  the  United  States  Geographic  Board  denied,  when,  shortly  after 
its  organization  in  1889,  it  rejected  the  Indian  name  in  favor  of  that 
given  to  honor  Vancouver's  now  forgotten  friend.  The  story  of  that 
ruling  has  yet  to  be  told.  It  would  not  make  pleasant  reading  for  those 
who  employed  a  young  newspaper  man  of  Portland,  Oregon,  to  pose 
as  an  expert,  and  without  reference  to  existing  evidence  of  the  Smith- 
sonian publications  and  other  Government  records,  report  against  the 
authenticity  of  the  Indian  name.  This  man  has  since  told  the  story, 
professed  repentance  of  his  performance,  and  offered  to  endeavor  to 

*  See  Appendix  O. 


undo  the  work  then  done.  As  to  the  Government's  Geographic  Board, 
which  accepted  such  a  report  and  ignored  the  real  evidence  at  hand  in 
the  official  files,  I  leave  my  readers  to  form  their  own  opinion. 

The  purely  commercial  mind,  which  sees  reason  in  nothing  that  does 
not  bear  the  dollar  mark,  asks:  "Why  dispute  about  the  name  of  a 
mountain?"  The  answer  is:  The  nation  that  does  not  respect  its  own 
history  cannot  hope  to  have  a  history  worthy  of  respect.  We  should 
not  have  waited  for  the  recent  reprimand  in  this  matter  from  the  late 
British  Ambassador,  the  Mr.  Bryce,  one  of  the  many  writers  who  have 
preferred  to  use  the  Indian  name. 

The  following  account,  condensed  from  "The  Mountain  that  Was 
'God,'  "  may  be  of  interest  to  those  who  would  know  more  about  Amer- 
ica's noblest  glacier  peak: 

"Our  stately  mountain,  in  its  youth,  was  as  comely  and  symmetrical 
a  cone  as  ever  graced  the  galaxy  of  volcanic  peaks.  To-day,  while  still 
young  as  compared  with  the  obelisk  crags  of  the  Alps,  it  has  already 
taken  on  the  venerable  and  deeply-scarred  physiognomy  of  a  veteran. 
No  longer  the  huge  conical  pimple  which  a  volcano  erected  on  the  earth's 
crust,  it  bears  upon  it  the  history  of  its  own  explosion,  and  of  its  losing 
battle  with  the  sun,  which,  employing  the  heaviest  of  all  tools,  is  steadily 
destroying  it.  It  has  already  lost  a  tenth  of  its  height  and  a  third  of 
its  bulk.  The  ice  is  cutting  deeper  and  deeper  into  its  sides.  As  if  to 
compensate  for  losses  in  size  and  shapeliness,  the  mountain  presents 
the  most  important  phenomena  of  glacial  action  to  be  seen  in  the  United 

"In  its  dimensions,  however,  it  is  still  one  of  the  world's  great  peaks. 
The  area  occupied  exceeds  three  hundred  square  miles.  Of  its  surface 
upwards  of  32,500  acres,  or  about  fifty-one  square  miles,  are  covered 
by  glaciers  or  the  fields  of  perpetual  snow  which  feed  them.  Its  glacial 
system  is  the  most  extensive  on  the  continent,  south  of  Alaska.  The 
twelve  primary  glaciers  vary  in  length  from  three  to  eight  miles,  and 
from  half  a  mile  to  three  miles  in  width.  There  are  as  many  'inter- 
glaciers,'  or  smaller  ice  streams  which  gather  their  snow  supply,  not 
from  the  neve  fields  of  the  summit,  but  within  the  wedges  of  rock  which 
the  greater  glaciers  have  left  pointing  upward  on  the  higher  slopes. 

"That  the  glaciers  of  this  and  every  other  mountain  in  the  northern 
hemisphere  are  mere  pygmies  compared  with  their  former  selves,  is 
well  known.  What  their  destructive  power  must  have  been  when  their 
volume  was  many  times  greater  may  be  judged  from  the  moraines 
built  along  their  former  channels.     *     *     * 

"Even  now,  diminished  as  they  are,  the  glaciers  are  fast  transport- 
ing the  mountain  toward  the  sea.  Wherever  a  glacier  skirts  a  cliflf, 
it  is  cutting  into  its  side,  as  it  cuts  into  its  own  bed  below.  From  the 
overhanging  rocks,  too,  debris  falls  as  a  result  of  'weathering.'  The 
daily  ebb  and  flow  of  frost  and  heat  help  greatly  to  tear  down  the  chffs. 

"A  glacier's  flow  varies  from  a  hundred  to  a  thousand  feet  a  year, 
depending  upon  its  volume,  its  width,  and  the  slope  of  its  bed.  As 
the  decades  pass,  its  level  is  greatly  lowered  by  the  melting  of  the  ice. 
More  and  more,  earth  and  rocks  accumulate  upon  the  surface,  as  it 
travels  onward.    At  last,  in  its  old  age,  when  far  down  its  canyon,  the 


glacier  is  completely  hidden.  Only  at  its  snout,  where  it  breaks  off, 
as  a  rule,  in  a  high  wall  of  ice,  do  we  realize  how  huge  a  volume  and 
weight  it  must  have,  far  above  toward  its  sources,  or  why  so  many  of  the 
crevasses  on  the  upper  ice  fields  seem  almost  bottomless. 

"These  hints  suggest  how  much  of  the  mountain  has  already  been 
whittled  and  planed  away.  But  here  we  may  do  better  than  speculate. 
The  original  surface  of  the  peak  is  clearly  indicated  by  the  tops  of  the 
great  rock  wedges  which  have  survived  the  glacial  sculpturing.  These 
rise  from  one  to  two  thousand  feet  above  the  glaciers,  which  are  them- 
selves several  thousand  feet  in  depth. 

"Wherever  lava  flows  occurred  in  the  building  of  the  mountain, 
strata  formed;  and  such  stratification  is  clearly  seen  at  intervals  on  the 
sides  of  the  cliffs  just  mentioned.  Its  incline,  of  course,  is  that  of  the 
former  surface.  The  strata  point  upward  —  not  toward  the  summit 
which  we  see,  but  far  above  it.  For  this  reason  the  geologists  who  have 
examined  the  aretes  most  closely  are  agreed  that  the  peak  has  lost  nearly 
two  thousand  feet  of  its  height.  It  blew  its  own  head  off!  Such  ex- 
plosive eruptions  are  among  the  worst  vices  of  volcanoes.  Every  visitor 
to  Naples  remembers  how  plainly  the  landscape  north  of  Vesuvius 
tells  of  a  prehistoric  decapitation,  which  left  only  a  low,  broad  platform, 
on  the  south  rim  of  which  the  little  Vesuvius  that  many  of  us  have 
climbed  was  formed  by  later  eruptions. 

"Like  Vesuvius,  too,  Rainier-Tacoma  has  built  upon  the  plateau 
left  when  it  lost  its  head.  South  Peak,  or  Peak  Success,  and  Liberty 
Cap,  the  northern  elevation,  seen  from  Seattle  and  Tacoma,  are  nearly 
three  miles  apart  on  the  west  side  of  the  broad  summit.  These  are  parts 
of  the  rim  of  the  old  crater.  East  of  the  line  uniting  them,  and  about 
two  miles  from  each,  the  volcano  built  up  an  elevation  now  known 
as  Crater  Peak,  comprising  two  small  adjacent  craters.  These  burnt- 
out  craters  are  now  filled  with  snow,  and  where  their  rims  touch,  a  big 
snow-hill  rises  —  the  strange  creature  of  eddying  winds  that  sweep 
up  through  the  great  flume  cut  by  volcanic  explosion  and  glacial  action 
in  the  west  side  of  the  peak. 

"This  mound  of  snow  is  the  present  actual  top.  Believing  it  the 
highest  point  in  the  United  States  south  of  Alaska,  a  party  of  climbers, 
in  1894,  named  it  'Columbia's  Crest.'  This  was  long  thought  to  be  the 
mountain's  rightful  distinction,  for  different  computations  by  experts 
gave  various  elevations  ranging  as  high  as  14,529  feet.  Even  upon  a 
government  map  published  as  late  as  1907  the  height  is  stated  as  14,526 
feet.  In  view  of  this  variety  of  expert  opinion,  the  flattering  name, 
not  unnaturally,  has  stuck,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  government 
geographers  have  now  adopted,  for  the  Dictionary  of  Altitudes,  the 
height  found  by  the  United  States  Geological  Survey  in  1902,  14,363 
feet.  That  decision  leaves  the  honor  of  being  the  loftiest  peak  between 
Alaska  and  Mexico  to  Mt.  Whitney  in  the  California  Sierra  (14,502  feet). 
This,  however,  will  not  lessen  the  pride  of  the  Northwest  in  its  great 
peak.  A  few  feet  of  height  signify  nothing.  No  California  mountain 
masked  behind  the  Sierra  can  vie  in  majesty  with  the  lonely  pile  that 
rises  in  stately  grandeur  from  the  shores  of  Puget  Sound." — Williams: 
"The  Mountain  that  Was  'God.'  "    Chap.  III. 




The  problem  of  roads  was  very  early  attacked  by  the  handful  of 
whites  in  northern  Oregon.  The  pioneers  in  that  part  of  the  territory 
either  came  by  ship  from  California  or  the  Columbia,  and  entering  the 
Straits  of  Fuca,  sailed  up  to  Steilacoom  and  Olympia,  the  first  villages 
established  on  Puget  Sound;  or  they  came  from  the  Willamette  Valley 
by  boat  down  the  Columbia- to  the  Cowlitz,  up  the  latter  stream  to  the 
head  of  navigation,  and  thence  overland  to  the  Sound  settlements. 
By  either  route  the  trip  was  long  and  costly;  and  few  homeseekers, 
after  once  reaching  the  Willamette,  had  money  or  courage  left  for  it. 
Thus  arose  the  demand  not  only  for  roads  connecting  the  widely  scattered 
and  slow-growing  settlements  one  with  another,  but  also  for  a  highway 
across  the  Cascade  Range  to  old  Fort  Walla  Walla,  the  Hudson's  Bay 
post  near  the  junction  of  the  Columbia  and  the  Snake, —  a  road  that 
should  encourage  "emigrants,"  as  the  prospective  citizens  were  pop- 
ularly called,  to  come  directly  to  the  Sound,  without  going  first  to  the 
Willamette  and  lower  Columbia. 

Several  years  prior  to  1853,  the  ambitious  settlers  had  begun  a  road 
over  the  mountains,  but  actual  construction  had  not  proceeded  far. 
The  records  kept  by  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  at  Fort  Nisqually, 
with  almost  every  number  of  the  first  newspaper  north  of  the  Columbia 
(The  Columbian,  established  at  Olympia  in  September,  1852),  show 
the  zeal  of  the  pioneers.  Thus  as  early  as  August  6,  1850,  the  "Journal 
of  Occurrences"  at  the  Fort  has  the  following  entry:  "A  party  of  men 
here  to-day  on  their  way  to  cut  a  road  across  the  mountains  to  Wally 
Wally,  the  expenses  incurred  [to  be]  paid  by  a  subscription  among  the 
settlers.  Mr.  Robertson,  the  deserter  from  Ft.  Victoria,  was  among 
the  working  party." 

That  spectacle,  I  take  it,  can  hardly  be  duplicated  among  the  his- 
torical pictures  of  any  other  people  since  Gideon's  lilliputian  array 
against  the  hosts  of  Midian.  The  squad  of  settlers,  supplemented  by  one 
"deserter  from  Ft.  Victoria,"  going  out  to  battle  with  the  giants  of  the 
northwestern  forest,  the  canyons  of  the  White  and  Greenwater,  and 
the  wooded  heights  of  the  Cascades,  in  faith  that  the  supply  bill  will 
be  paid  by  their  struggling  neighbors,  is  characteristically  American. 
To  a  foreign  student  of  the  new  West,  indeed,  it  might  well  have  seemed 
an  illustration  of  "American  humor."  But  to  the  willing  actors,  there 
was  no  humor  in  their  confident  undertaking.  Unfortunately,  mountain 
highways  are  not  built  on  faith;  and  as  more  substantial  support  could 


not  be  had  from  the  infant  community,  it  was  three  years  before  the 
"road  to  Wally  Wally"  advanced  much  beyond  the  Puyallup. 

Late  in  1852,  shortly  before  the  passage  of  the  act  creating  the  Ter- 
ritory of  Washington,  Delegate  Lane  of  Oregon,  secured  an  appro- 
priation of  $20,000  from  Congress  for  the  long-desired  highway  across 
the  Cascades.  Undoubtedly  there  was  real  American  humor  in  the  size 
of  this  appropriation  for  so  vast  an  enterprise, —  the  kind  of  humor 
that  Congressional  pork-barrel  distributions  so  often  illustrate;  but 
with  the  strict  constructionists  opposing  every  internal  improvement, 
sturdy  "Joe"  Lane  had  a  six-months'  fight  for  even  this  niggardly  grant, 
until  the  Democrats  discovered  a  way  to  sidestep  their  own  constitu- 
tional theory,  and,  assuming  that  it  was  required  by  the  Army,  voted 
the  money  for  a  "military  road."  Although  President  Fillmore  signed 
the  bill  in  January,  1853,  word  reached  the  Sound  that  the  money 
would  not  be  available  that  year.  The  Columbian  of  April  23,  therefore, 
urged  the  settlers,  in  view  of  the  large  westward  migration  expected 
during  the  coming  summer,  to  begin  work  themselves  within  thirty 
days.  On  May  7,  that  newspaper  published  a  call  for  a  meeting  two 
weeks  later.  The  meeting  was  held,  and  two  committees  were  appointed, 
one  to  select  the  route,  the  other  to  provide  the  outfit.  Those  present 
subscribed  $128.00. 

The  Columbian  of  June  11  contains  a  letter  from  the  newly  appointed 
Governor,  Major  Isaac  I.  Stevens,  announcing  that  the  $20,000  ap- 
propriated had  been  placed  in  his  hands,  with  authority  to  build  the  road, 
and  saying:  "This  labor,  together  with  the  exploration  of  the  Cascade 
Range,  has  been  entrusted  to  a  vigorous  and  energetic  officer,  Capt. 
McClellan,  who  served  with  gallantry  in  Mexico,  and  is  distinguished 
for  his  great  professional  ability."  Governor  Stevens  expresses  the  hope 
that  the  road  will  be  built  this  year,  to  accommodate  the  incoming 

More  than  a  month  passed  with  no  word  from  or  of  Captain  McClel- 
lan, and  the  settlers  determined  to  wait  no  longer.  About  $1,200  was 
collected  in  money,  besides  many  contributions  of  supplies.  On  July 
10,  two  parties  of  men  who  had  agreed  to  give  their  labor  took  the  field. 
One  composed  of  Whitefield  Kirtley,  Nelson  Sargent  and  others,  crossed 
the  mountains,  to  begin  at  the  Yakima  and  work  westwardly;  the  other, 
led  by  Edward  Jay  Allen,  a  young  engineer  who  had  come  to  the  coast 
the  year  before,  began  by  improving  the  six  miles  of  "trail  road"  built 
across  the  Puyallup  in  1850,  and  then  pushed  a  clearing  through  the  for- 
est along  the  White  and  Greenwater,  to  the  foot  of  the  range.  Winthrop 
fell  in  with  their  first  work  near  the  Puyallup,  and  in  his  Journal  for 
August  25  and  26  good-naturedly  damns  their  achievement  with  faint 
praise:    "The  Indian  trail  is  very  bad,  blocked  with  logs  everywhere. 


The  road  is  bad,  but  better.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  see  white  men's 

Allen,  though  only  twenty-two,  was  the  real  head  of  the  road-mak- 
ers. Evans  calls  him  "engineer,  contractor  and  soul  of  the  enterprise." 
So  vigorously  was  the  work  prosecuted  under  his  direction  that  early 
in  August  he  was  able  to  write  to  a  friend  that  besides  clearing  out  the 
old  road,  they  had  located  their  route  up  the  White,  so  as  to  avoid  the 
worst  hills,  and  that  he  had  reports  of  rapid  progress  of  Kirtley's  party 
across  the  Cascades.  "The  Indians,"  he  adds,  "say  that  Captain  McClel- 
lan,  who  is  now  east  of  the  mountains,  is  coming  through  on  this  route." 

The  east-side  party  built,  before  the  end  of  summer,  what  was  called 
optimistically  a  road,  leading  up  the  Naches  River  to  its  source  in  the 
Pass.  Winthrop's  account  shows  that  it  was  no  boulevard:  "My  friends 
the  woodsmen  had  constructed  an  elaborate  inclined  plane  of  very 
knobby  corduroy  down  the  steepest  slope.  Klale  turned  up  his  nose 
at  it.  Oxen  might  clumsily  toil  up  such  a  road  as  this,  but  quick-footed 
ponies,  descending  and  carrying  light  loads  of  a  wild  Indian  and  an 
untamed  blanketeer,  chose  rather  to  whisk  along  the  aboriginal  paths." 

West  of  the  Cascades ,  the  other  party  met  greater  difficulties.  In 
the  heavier  forest  along  the  upper  White  and  on  the  Greenwater,  lit- 
tle more  was  done  that  summer  than  to  cut  a  way  to  the  foot  of  the 
steep  ridge  leading  up  to  the  Pass.  Here  Winthrop  found  Allen  and  his 
company  of  prime  fellows  gathered  about  their  riverside  camp-fire 
on  the  evening  of  August  26.  And  here  he  was  their  guest  for  the  night, 
made  note  of  their  competency  for  the  job  in  hand,  shared  their  leader's 
blanket  and  roof  of  stars,  partook  of  his  enthusiasm  for  the  new  Com- 
monwealth and  his  breakfast  of  salt  pork,  and  then,  names  still  un- 
known, bade  his  hosts  farewell,  and  attacked  the  arete  that  brought 
him  to  the  summit,  "La  Tete,"  and  the  noble  view  of  Tacoma  which 
inspired  one  of  the  best  pieces  of  descriptive  writing  in  American 

Shortly  after  Winthrop  passed,  word  came  to  the  road  camp  that 
the  expected  immigration  had  been  diverted  to  the  Willamette.  The 
fund  was  exhausted  and  their  supplies  had  run  low.  Expecting  that 
the  Congressional  appropriation  would  be  available  in  another  year,  the 
road-makers  returned  to  the  Sound,  only  to  learn  later  that  they  had 
been  misinformed,  and  that  a  large  immigrant  caravan  was  coming  up 
the  Naches.  Some  of  them  hastened  back  to  the  mountains.  There 
they  found  thirty-six  wagons  slowly  toiling  up  the  east  slope,  where  the 
Naches  had  been  crossed  eighty-six  times  before  reaching  the  Pass,  and 
were  able  to  render  needed  aid  in  getting  them  down  the  still  steeper 
west  side.  A  route  had  to  be  selected  and  a  road  made  as  the  party 
advanced.    Their  way  is  still  traceable;  indeed,  it  is  the  only  practicable 


wagon  route  from  the  summit  down  to  the  Greenwater.  Two  branches 
of  that  stream  flow  out  of  the  Pass  to  a  junction  near  Bear  Prairie.  Be- 
tween their  deep  canyons  a  long  ridge  projects  to  the  west,  and  down 
its  sharp  chine  the  wayfarer  must  clutch  and  slide.  This  was  the  route 
of  both  "Siwash  Hooihut"  and  "Boston  Hooihut," —  of  Indian  trail 
and  white  man's  road.  One  may  easily  discover  the  tracks  worn  in  the 
rocks,  the  bark  torn  from  aged  trees,  the  remains  of  stout  plugs  driven 
into  giant  firs  to  aid  in  snubbing  the  wagons  down  grades  of  twenty 
to  thirty  per  cent. 

"The  eastern  slope,"  says  Judge  Evans,  "presented  no  great  diffi- 
culties, but  through  the  mountains  a  trail  had  been  blazed,  nothing 
more.  Over  huge  logs,  bridges  of  small  poles  had  been  constructed, 
passable  for  horses,  but  obstructions  really  to  wagons.  *  *  *  ^q 
call  it  a  road  was  an  abuse  of  language;  but  over  it  and  by  it  those  immi- 
grants of  1853  traveled  to  Puget  Sound.  With  axe  in  hand,  they  and  the 
road-builders,  led  by  Allen,  hewed  their  way  through  a  mountain  gorge. 
Some  days  they  accomplished  three  miles;  but  they  came  through  with 
their  wagons,  over  a  road  built  as  they  marched."* 

James  Longmire,  one  of  the  best  known  of  the  immigrants,  left  an 
account  of  their  overland  trip,  in  which  he  describes  this  descent:  "One 
end  of  a  rope  was  fastened  to  the  axles  of  the  wagons,  the  other  thrown 
around  a  tree  and  held  by  our  men.  Thus,  one  by  one,  the  wagons 
were  lowered  gradually  a  distance  of  300  yards,  when  the  ropes  were 
loosened,  and  the  wagons  drawn  a  quarter  of  a  mile  farther  with  locked 
wheels.  All  the  wagons  were  lowered  safely  save  one,  which  was  crushed 
by  the  breaking  of  the  rope.  *  *  *  We  made  the  road  as  we  went 
along.  We  crossed  the  Greenwater  sixteen  times  and  the  White  six 
times."  t 

In  "his  interesting  reminiscences  printed  on  a  later  page.  Colonel 
Allen  tells  of  his  completion  of  this  road  during  the  next  summer,  made 
possible  by  the  $15,000  which  was  left  of  the  appropriation  made  by 
Congress.  His  account  leaves  it  clear  that  Captain  McClellan,  to  whom 
had  been  entrusted  the  expenditure  of  that  fund  in  road-making  during 
the  summer  of  1853,  but  whose  delay  in  reaching  the  Columbia  and  his 
masterly  inactivity  thereafter  were  only  too  prophetic  of  his  career  in 
the  Civil  War,  accomplished  nothing  that  deserves  commemoration 
by  the  people  of  Washington.  This  is  the  testimony  of  Colonel  Allen, 
of  Governor  Stevens,  whose  confidence  in  his  friend  was  sadly  shattered, 
of  Gen.  Hazard  Stevens,  his  father's  biographer,  and  even  of  General 
Hodges,  whose  valuable  recollections,  following  this  article,  make  what 
apologies  they  may  for  his  superior  officer's  failures.    It  is  evident  from 

*  History  of  the  Northu'est,  I.,3Jfl-2. 

iTransactions  of  the  Oregon  Pioneer  Association  for  190k,  SJflf. 


the  testimony  of  both  General  Hodges  and  Colonel  Allen  that  McClellan 
built  no  road;  and  it  is  equally  well  established  that  he  traversed  no 
passes.  Instead  of  obtaining  the  data  which  he  was  sent  here  to  get, 
and  which  other  officers  later  obtained  without  serious  difficulty  under 
the  more  trying  conditions  of  winter,  Captain  McClellan  merely  ap- 
proached the  Naches  and  Snoqualmie  Passes  on  the  east  side,  and  then, 
taking  the  word  of  Indians,  who  of  course  wanted  no  white  men  on 
their  trails,  reported  to  Governor  Stevens  that  the  Cascades  offered  no 
practicable  pass  for  a  railway  because  of  the  great  depth  of  snow.  It 
is  a  sufficient  commentary  on  his  methods  that  three  trans-continental 
railways  now  cross  the  Cascades  north  of  the  Naches,  and  a  fourth  is 
likely  soon  to  be  built  over  that  Pass. 

Captain  McClellan's  disappointing  record  in  the  Territory  has  been 
made  the  subject  of  honors  quite  misplaced.  The  last  Washington  Legis- 
lature, acting  on  the  tradition  that  he  built  the  "Military  Road,"  and  in- 
spired by  enthusiasm  for  a  great  reputation,  named  one  of  its  proposed 
mountain  roads  "McClellan  Pass  Highway."  Never  was  a  name  more  a 
misnomer.  The  route  of  this  road  lies  through  Bear  Gap,  a  pass  which 
McClellan  never  saw.  He  failed  the  settlers  in  their  hour  of  need,  and 
it  is  a  mistake  to  honor  him  for  building  the  Naches  road,  in  which 
he  had  no  active  part.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Legislature,  unfortun- 
ately, rejected  a  proposal  to  name  the  road  in  question  "Pioneer  High- 
way," in  honor  of  the  men  who  constructed  the  only  wagon  road  as 
yet  built  across  the  Cascades  in  this  State. 

Although  the  road  over  the  Naches  Pass  was  used  by  many  immi- 
grants during  the  years  immediately  succeeding  its  construction,  on  the 
whole  it  proved  of  far  less  value  to  the  Territory  than  its  projectors 
expected.  This  was  mainly  due  to  the  introduction  of  steamboats  on 
the  Columbia,  making  it  easier  for  homeseekers  to  reach  the  Sound 
via  that  route  through  the  Cascades. 

In  building  the  "Citizens'  Road,"  the  settlers  contributed  more 
than  $6,600  in  money,  supplies  and  labor.  Governor  Stevens  urgently 
recommended  that  Congress  repay  this  sum,  but  his  request  was  ignored. 



Brigadier  General  Henry  C.  Hodges,  U.  S.  A.,  retired,  now  living 
in  Buffalo,  New  York,  has  favored  me  with  an  interesting  letter  of 
reminiscences  of  Winthrop's  visit  to  the  Northwest,  of  the  McClellan 
expedition,  and  of  George  Gibbs,  the  famous  enthnologist  and  linguist. 


General  Hodges  takes  issue  with  those  historians  who  have  charged 
McClellan  with  undue  delay  in  starting  upon  his  survey  of  the  Cascade 
passes.  But  he  makes  it  plain  that  McClellan  did  not  cross  the  Cas- 
cades, and  did  not  reach  or  explore  any  pass  south  of  the  Naches.  Thus 
he  exposes  the  historical  inaccuracy  of  the  Washington  Legislature 
in  naming  a  road  through  a  pass  which  McClellan  never  saw  the  'McClel- 
lan Pass  Highway.'     General  Hodges  writes: 

"My  acquaintance  with  Theodore  Winthrop  began  in  April  of  1853, 
at  Fort  Vancouver,  now  Vancouver  Barracks,  where  he  was  my  guest. 
His  arrival  there  was  about  the  time  Captain  Wallen's  company  of  the 
4th  Infantry,  to  which  I  belonged,  was  preparing  to  go  to  Fort  Dalles, 
Oregon,  to  reinforce  the  garrison  of  that  Post,  as  it  was  thought  by 
Major  Alvord,  commanding,  that  Indian  conditions  were  not  satis- 
factory. At  the  same  time.  Captain  T.  L.  Brent,  Depot  Quartermaster, 
was  preparing  to  cross  the  country  to  Salt  Lake  City,  under  orders 
from  the  Quartermaster  General  of  the  Army.  An  arrangement  was 
made  by  which  Mr.  Winthrop  was  to  join  Captain  Brent's  party,  en 
route  to  the  East.  Captains  Wallen  and  Brent,  with  their  commands, 
left  Fort  Vancouver  on  the  same  boat.  There  was  no  steamboat  above 
the  Cascades,  and  we  did  not  arrive  at  The  Dalles  until  late  the  sixth 
day.  At  Fort  Dalles  my  company  went  on  duty,  and  Captain  Brent 
started  for  Salt  Lake,  while  Mr.  Winthrop  was  quarantined  in  the  quar- 
ters of  Major  Alvord  with  smallpox.  As  he  had  occupied  the  same 
tent  with  the  three  officers  on  the  trip,  there  was  some  apprehension 
the  disease  might  spread.  It  did  not,  though;  and  Winthrop  recovered 
in  due  course,  but  missed  his  trip  across  the  Plains  with  Captain  Brent. 
He  went  back  to  Portland,  when  able  to  travel. 

"Not  long  after  he  left  Fort  Dalles  for  Portland,  my  company  was 
sent  back  to  Fort  Vancouver.  Here  I  was  detailed  on  Captain  McClel- 
lan's  survey  as  Quartermaster  and  Commissary.  The  party  left  Fort 
Vancouver  in  July,  going  north  and  east,  via  Yakolht  Prairie,  and  fol- 
lowing an  Indian  trail  that  led  east  of  north  to  the  pass  in  the  Cascades 
by  which  we  crossed  the  Range.  This  is  doubtless  the  route  you 
took  up  the  Lewis  River.  We  built  no  road,  but  merely  cleared 
the  trail,  which  was  much  obstructed  by  fallen  timber.  We  camped  on 
top  of  the  Cascades  for  two  days  at  a  place  called  'Chequoss,'  between 
Mts.  St.  Helens  and  Adams.  We  then  descended  into  the  valley,  reach- 
ing a  river  called  the  'Topinich.'  Then  to  the  Atanum,  where  Kamia- 
kan,  Scloom,  and  Oyehy  lived,  chiefs  of  the  Yakima  nation.*  On  this 
stream  was  a  Roman  Catholic  mission  house  in  charge  of  Father  Pan- 
dozy.  Here  I  bought  cattle  from  Schloom,  and  jerked  the  meat.  These 
Yakima  Indians  had  superb  horses.    It  was  said  these  were  the  result  of 

♦Winthrop's  "Atlnam,"  "Kamaiakan."  "Skloo"  and  "Owhhigh." 


mating  stallions  stolen  from  the  emigrants  with  the  tribes  own  mares, 
which  were  of  a  fine  quality.  From  the  Atanum  we  went  to  the  Sim- 
coe,  the  Nachess  and  Wenass.  Here  it  was  determined  to  reduce  the 
party.  I  was  sent  to  Fort  Steilacoom,  Lieut.  Mowry  to  Fort  Dalles,  etc. 
I  went  back  to  the  Nachess,  and  followed  that  river  up  to  a  point  where 
the  newly  constructed  'emigrant  road'  left  the  river  abruptly  and  began 
the  ascent.  I  camped  on  the  summit  in  the  midst  of  fine  and  abundant 
grass.  Mt.  Tacoma  was  in  full  sight.  Two  days  after,  I  camped  in  a 
place  where  there  was  no  grass,  and  had  to  tie  up  my  animals.  As  I 
was  wTiting  up  my  day's  work,  Winthrop  and  his  guide  rode  into  my 
camp,  en  route  to  the  Dalles.  As  he  had  to  push  on  rapidly  to  his  camp- 
ing place,  we  had  time  to  say  little.  I  did  not  see  him  again  until  De- 
cember, 1856.  I  proceeded  to  Fort  Steilacoom,  filled  up  my  'larder,' 
and  started  back  to  join  Captain  McClellan,  on  the  upper  Yakima. 
When  Lieut.  MowTy  and  I  rejoined  the  party,  all  then  went  on  north 
looking  into  the  passes.  We  crossed  the  Columbia  at  old  Fort  Colville, 
went  south  over  the  Spokan  Plains,  crossed  the  Snake  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Palouse,  went  up  the  Touchet  to  Whitman's  Mission,  thence  to 
what  is  now  known  as  Wailatpu  and  down  the  left  bank  of  the  Colum- 
bia to  Fort  Dalles,  and  by  steamer  to  Fort  Vancouver.  Thus  ended  a 
very  interesting  work;  one  I  have  never  forgotten.  I  am  the  only  officer 
connected  with  it  now  living. 

"I  knew  George  Gibbs  well,  but  do  not  believe  that  he  and  Win- 
throp ever  met.  Gibbs  and  I  occupied  the  same  tent  on  the  survey 
expedition  and  became  intimate.  After  the  disbanding  of  the  survey, 
he  had  a  tract  of  land  near  Ft.  Steilacoom,  where  he  built  a  log  house 
and  lived  rather  the  life  of  a  hermit.  It  was  there  perhaps  he  compiled 
his  vocabularies  of  the  Indian  languages,  the  Chinook  jargon  included. 
In  this  work  he  was  an  enthusiast  and  great  worker,  going  to  the  bot- 
tom of  anything  of  that  sort  he  undertook,  and  was  an  authority.  He 
was  a  brother  of  General  Alfred  Gibbs  of  the  Army  and  classmate  of 
General  McClellan. 

"The  vocabulary  of  the  Chinook  at  the  back  of  'Canoe  and  Saddle' 
shows  much  industry  by  Mr.  Winthrop.  I  imagine  he  obtained  it  by 
questioning  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  people,  old  settlers  and  the 
Indians.  It  is  not  so  accurate  as  Gibbs's,  however,  since  Winthrop  had 
not  the  time  or  leisure  to  give  to  it.  I  am  not  surprised  that  the  Navy 
Department  named  one  of  it's  vessels  in  1861  'Tahoma.'  In  early  days 
there  were  ships  of  our  Navy  in  Puget  Sound,  and  it  is  likely  the  officers 
knew  the  name  which  the  Indians  gave  to  Mr.  Rainier,  and  when  oppor- 
tunity offered  that  name  was  selected.  A  fine  name,  too!  You  may 
remember  one  of  our  vessels  was  called  the  'Monadnock,'  from  the 
mountain  of  that  name  in  New  Hampshire. 


"I  always  thought  Captain  McClellan  an  able  man  and  a  zealous 
officer.  I  am  of  the  opinion,  too,  that  Gov.  Stevens  and  he  did  not 
think  alike  on  many  points. 

"In  my  own  mind  I  do  not  believe  Captain  McClellan  delayed 
getting  to  Ft.  Vancouver.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  he  was  in  Texas  when 
ordered  on  the  survey.  For  the  delay  at  Fort  Vancouver  in  getting 
ready,  he  was  in  no  way  responsible.  We  had  a  large  pack  train,  and 
the  only  pack  saddles  we  could  purchase  were  poor,  breaking  easily 
and  frequently.  Recourse  was  had  to  some  old  dragoon  saddles,  and 
finally  we  made  some,  at  Yakolht  Prairie,  a  short  march  from  the  Fort. 
This  delayed  the  start.  If  any  one  was  responsible,  I  am  the  man, 
for  I  was  the  Quartermaster.  But  I  was  not  to  blame,  and  don't  think 
I  was  ever  considered  to  be  dilatory.  I  have  always  thought  the  settlers 
deserved  great  praise  for  cutting  the  road  through  the  Nachess  Pass, 
and  it  is  a  hardship  that  they  never  were  paid  for  their  work. 

"Winthrop's  trip  in  Washington  Territory  was  due  to  a  great  fond- 
ness for  adventure  and  a  desire  to  find  out  the  condition  of  our  Indians. 
I  wish  great  success  to  your  new  edition  of  his  book.  As  to  the  'Macas- 
sar,' there  was  none  in  my  stores.  It  may  have  been  in  some  of  the  stores 
Captain  McClellan  had  to  give  the  Indians.  But  this  is  all  surmise. 
I  know  nothing  of  it.  The  Hudson's  Bay  Company  carried  on  its  busi- 
ness at  Vancouver  to  the  close,  or  nearly  so,  of  1860.  Soon  after  General 
Harney  assumed  command  of  the  Department  of  Oregon,  he  began  to 
annoy  the  officials  of  the  Company,  which  gradually  removed  its  stores 
to  Victoria.  When  this  was  done  the  Fort  was  abandoned  by  the  Com- 
pany. In  my  early  days  at  Vancouver,  there  was  the  most  cordial 
and  pleasant  intercourse  between  the  officials  of  the  Company  and 
the  garrison." 


Colonel  Edward  Jay  Allen,  who  was  the  young  engineer  and  con- 
tractor at  the  head  of  the  road  builders  in  whose  camp  on  the  Green- 
water  Winthrop  spent  the  night  of  August  26,  1853,  is  now  a  highly 
respected  citizen  of  Pittsburg,  Pa.  His  active  part  in  public  affairs 
in  the  Territory  of  Washington  during  the  years  1852  to  1855  make 
his  recollections  of  Winthrop  and  the  "  Citizens'  Road "  of  especial 
interest  and  value: 


"My  acquaintance  with  Winthrop  was  limited  to  one  delightful 
night  in  the  Nahchess  Pass,  but  as  I  was  afterwards  secretary  to  General 
(then  Captain)  McClellan,  and  as  McClellan,  George  Gibbs  and  I  were 
together  in  the  same  old  shack  in  Olympia  for  several  months,  my 
recollections  may  have  some  interest. 

"A  chapter  in  'Canoe  and  Saddle'  tells  of  Winthrop's  visit  to  my 
camp  in  the  Nahchess  Pass.  His  description  of  the  camp  is  very  good, 
and  his  description  of  the  scenery  of  the  Pass  is  worthy  of  the  highest 
praise.  He  bunched  us  all  together  as  a  whole;  detail  might  have  im- 
paired the  rare  literary  flavor.  I  personally  was  red  shirted,  and  a 
pair  of  buckskins  about  completed  my  mountain  wardrobe.  While 
I  was  the  possessor  of  an  ill-earned  degree,  I  was  negligible  as  a  wood- 
chopper;  and  save  for  a  high  appreciation  of  my  grand  environment, 
I  did  not  fit  into  the  scene.  The  fine  literary  sense  of  Winthrop  staged 
the  camp  as  a  whole,  and  forgave  my  own  lack  of  woodcraft,  or  over- 
looked it. 

"A  nearly  all-night  talk  under  the  same  blanket  developed  some 
tastes  in  common,  and  made  me  cognizant  of  his  subtle  companionship 
with  nature,  though  I  did  not  suspect  his  powers  of  expression.  It 
was  not  etiquette,  in  those  days,  to  ask  a  man's  name  when  not  volun- 
tarily given.  Indeed,  that  it  was  Smith  in  one  locality  was  no  guaranty 
that  it  had  not  been  Jones  in  another.  So  I  never  knew  until  years 
afterward,  when  I  read  the  chapter  in  'Canoe  and  Saddle,'  who  had 
been  my  guest  of  a  night.  When  I  went  up  to  New  Haven  to  see  my 
youngest  boy  matriculated  at  Yale,  I  did  not  want  to  go  to  his  apart- 
ments before  going  to  the  cemetery  where  Winthrop  lies  buried. 

"At  the  time  of  my  meeting  with  Winthrop,  the  Indians  were  in 
that  unrest  which  some  two  years  later  resulted  in  the  Indian  war  and 
the  descent  of  the  Klickitats  and  Yakimas  upon  the  settlements.  For 
anyone  in  such  a  time  to  be  traveling  alone  seemed  strange,  and  some 
of  my  men,  with  a  distrust  not  unreasonable,  thought  we  should  prevent 
his  going  farther.  They  had  a  vague  suspicion,  which  was  in  the  minds 
of  the  early  settlers,  that  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company's  people  held 
relations  with  the  Indians  that  were  inimical  to  the  Americans.  Not 
all  the  kind  consideration  of  Dr.  Tolmie,  at  Ft.  Nisqually,  had  removed 
this  suspicion.  Regretfully  I  accompanied  Winthrop  on  the  trail  next 
morning,  feeling  that  I  was  losing  a  link  that  temporarily  connected 
me  with  a  fuller  civilization.  Winthrop's  name  was  unknown  then, 
and  would  not  have  enlightened  me  had  I  known  it,  but  there  was  a 
charm  in  his  personality  that  was  sufficient.  One  does  not  lose  the  joy 
of  the  night  because  he  cannot  name  the  stars. 

"You  say:  'One  personage  in  "Canoe  and  Saddle,"  Capt.  Geo.  B. 
McClellan,  will,  of  course,  always  be  a  subject  of  debate.' 


"I  had  a  certain  intimacy  with  Capt.  (by  brevet  I  believe)  McClel- 
lan,  arising  from  my  acting  as  his  secretary  for  some  months,  and  the 
intimacy  that  would  come  from  occupying  the  same  cabin  in  Olympia. 
In  the  fall  of  '53,  the  district  was  about  to  poll  its  first  vote.  It  was 
overwhelmingly  Democratic.  Some  enthusiastic  friends  set  up  a  Whig 
ticket  on  which  I  was  one  of  the  two  candidates  for  the  Territorial 
Senate.  Capt.  McClellan  told  me  that  he  had  never  voted.  If  he  was 
anything,  he  said  he  was  a  Democrat,  but  he  was  going  to  vote  for  me. 
I  am  compelled  to  say  I  do  not  think  McClellan's  survey  of  the  Cas- 
cades for  a  railway  route  was  very  thorough.  When  after  one  sum- 
mer of  volunteer  work  by  the  citizens  endeavoring  to  make  a  passable 
road  through  the  Nahchess  Pass,  Capt.  McClellan  gave  me  the  contract 
to  expend  what  remained  of  the  $20,000  appropriated  by  Congress  for 
that  purpose,  he  suggested  that  he  could  make  an  engineer's  examination 
of  the  Pass.  I  replied  that  such  an  examination  would  exhaust  the  whole 
amount,  and  then  would  only  demonstrate  that  it  would  require  at  least 
$500,000  to  construct  what  would  be  but  a  faint  approach  to  a  'Military 
Road.'     Hence  that  idea  was  abandoned. 

"I  found  that  $5,000  of  that  amount  had  been  expended  in  his  gen- 
eral examination  of  the  Cascade  Range,  leaving  but  $15,000. 

"Lieut.  Arnold,  of  what  was  then  called  the  Dragoons,  was  de- 
tailed to  go  over  the  route  with  me.  I  think  the  amount  of  $15,000  and 
a  passable  road  for  about  135  miles  did  not  seem  to  him  to  have  any 
close  connection  with  each  other.  I  really  forget  whether  McClellan 
was  of  the  party,  but  think  not  at  that  time.  He  however,  came  later, 
when  we  had  reached  a  seeming  'impasse,'  where  the  open,  if  rough.  Pass 
ended,  as  all  Cascade  passes  do,  in  an  abrupt  mountain  closing  up  the 
gap.  He  said  I  had  done  well  with  what  I  had  expended,  but,  of  course, 
I  could  do  nothing  to  overcome  this  obstacle.  To  which,  in  the  heat  of 
youth,  and  with  some  ideas  of  what  would  be  deemed  possible  by  an 
emigrant  that  would  seem  besotted  ignorance  to  an  engineer,  I  replied: 
'I  will  make  up  that  almost  perpendicular  1,200  feet  not  only  a  road  that 
an  emigrant  can  get  down,  but  one  that  six  yoke  of  cattle  can  haul 
1,000  lbs.  up.'  To  which  he  gave  a  kindly  but  incredulous  shrug  of  the 
shoulders.  My  difficulty,  of  course,  was  not  an  engineering  one,  but 
simply  a  matter  of  finances.  I  had  but  a  few  thousand  dollars  left. 
When  he  came  back  later,  at  my  request,  we  had  constructed  a  road  up 
which  I  hauled,  with  four  oxen,  1,500  lbs.  It  was  buttressed  up  an  aver- 
age of  fifteen  feet,  and  in  some  places  forty  feet,  with  the  huge  trees 
that  covered  the  mountain-side,  and  was  stayed  down  the  mountain, 
from  tree  to  tree,  with  thousands  of  braces.  It  was  impossible,  but  we 
were  ignorant,  and  not  fully  conscious  of  this  impossibility;  and  so  we 
did  it.     McClellan  stood  on  the  highest  point  of  the  buttress  and  said: 


'Young  man,  do  you  know  what  you  have  done  here?  Under  the  con- 
ditions, Napoleon's  passage  of  the  Simplon  was  an  engineering  feat 
no  greater  than  this.' 

"I  wonder  how  much  of  that  road  exists  to-day.  It  did  not  seem 
to  me  very  extraordinary  then,  but  I  was  only  twenty-two.  I  am  now 
in  my  eighty-fourth  year,  and  have  learned  that  youth  and  its  inability 
to  recognize  obstacles  are  great  factors  to  success.  Some  large  measure 
of  McClellan's  opinion  of  our  work  in  the  Nahchess  Pass  went  into  his 
report.  I  remember  looking  over  a  map  of  his  reconnaissance  of  the 
Cascades,  and  noticed  a  camp  designated  'Hellis-del-ight.'  I  could  not 
recognize  any  Indian  dialect  in  this  nomenclature,  but  McClellan  ex- 
plained that  the  camp  was  an  unusually  unpleasant  one,  and  that  the 
name  was  a  disguise  for  'Hell's  Delight.'  I  presume  that  map  is  on 
record  in  the  War  Department.  It  is  a  testimonial  at  least  to  McClel- 
lan's sense  of  humor. 

"Concerning  the  name  of  our  mountain:  'Tahoma,'  undoubtedly! 
If  you  are  conversant  with  the  Indian  pronunciation,  you  will  recognize 
that  if  an  Indian  heard  for  the  first  time  the  English  'Tacoma,'  he  would 
render  it,  with  his  guttural,  'T'homa.' 

"I  knew  George  Gibbs  well.  He  was  a  likeable  man  and  a  learned 
student.  I  was  with  him  while  he  was  compiling  his  Chinook  jargon 
dictionary.  He  made  it  quite  complete,  but  it  was  less  expressive  than 
would  have  been  one  gotten  together  by  illiterate  Michael  Simmons 
of  Tumwater.  With  some  one  to  write  out  the  difficult  Indian  pro- 
nunciations, Simmons  would  have  given  the  jargon  just  as  it  was  actu- 
ally used.  The  scholarly  Gibbs,  I  think,  could  not  refrain  from  treating 
it  as  if  it  had  tense,  whereas  it  had  none,  and  the  meaning  of  a  word 
was  decided  by  emphasis.  This  is  very  apparent  in  the  word  'si-ah,'  for 
example.  This  negligently  uttered  has  a  different  meaning  from  the 
emphatic  pronunciation  of  the  word,  with  the  last  syllable  prolonged. 
Then,  too,  the  distinct  French,  Spanish  and  English  words  in  the  jar- 
gon would,  in  scholarly  hands,  insist  on  a  meaning  closely  allied  to  their 
originals;  whereas  with  the  greater  vulgarism  of  an  illiterate  people, 
having  no  written  records,  the  root  meanings  'of  the  best  usage'  became 
greatly  corrupted.  Gibbs  did  not  sufficiently  consider  this.  The  men 
like  Mike  Simmons,  who  were  innocent  of  all  knowledge  of  tenses  and 
cases,  and  entirely  untrammeled,  and  who  used  Chinook  as  a  necessity 
of  their  daily  life,  gave  it  as  the  Indian  rendered  it.  For  my  coming 
volume,  'The  Oregon  Trail,'  I  have  in  manuscript  perhaps  the  fullest 
vocabulary  of  the  jargon  yet  offered.  It  is  compiled  from  all  the  vocab- 
ularies to  which  I  could  get  access,  together  with  the  pronunciations  as  I 
knew  them.  It  is  likely  that  in  different  localities  these  pronunciations 
differed  slightly,  though  not  anywhere  to  my  knowledge  in  what  now 


constitutes  Washington, —  the  territory  which  in  1852,  at  the  Conven- 
tion of  Monticello,  we  petitioned  Congress  to  call  'Columbia.' 

"A  Chinook  vocabulary  was  published  by  the  Columbian,  edited  by 
McElroy  and  Wiley,  the  earliest  paper,  I  believe,  issued  north  of  the 
Columbia.*  Others  were  published  later.  There  were  several  sources 
from  which  Winthrop  might  have  secured  his  vocabulary.  Certainly 
he  could  have  got  it  at  Fort  Vancouver.  As  to  the  origin  of  'Tacoma,'  I 
have  no  information,  but  if  Gibbs's  Indian  vocabularies  give  the  word, 
he  must  be  regarded  as  the  best  authority. 

"I  was  in  Washington  Territory  from  1852  to  1855.  During  the 
War  of  the  Rebellion,  I  was  on  the  staffs  of  Generals  Fremont  and  Sigel, 
and  afterwards  recruited  and  commanded  the  155th  Pennsylvania 

"At  the  time  the  road  through  the  Nahchess  Pass  was  being  built 
by  citizens  of  the  new  Territory,  it  seemed  of  great  moment.  There 
was  no  entrance  by  land  to  the  Puget  Sound  country.  Immigrants 
came  to  Portland,  and  from  there,  in  their  wagons,  could  make  their 
way  anywhere  south  of  the  Columbia  River.  But  to  reach  the  Sound 
they  had  to  go  by  boat  to  the  mouth  of  the  Cowlitz  River,  take  their 
wagons  apart,  and  have  them  and  their  contents  taken  up  that  stream 
in  Indian  canoes;  then,  there  being  no  road,  drive  their  cattle  up  the 
rough  trail  over  the  hills,  till  they  came  to  the  prairies,  and  there  putting 
their  wagons  together,  strike  across  to  'Whulge.'  All  this  required 
money,  which  few  of  them  had,  and  involved  more  adventure,  of  which 
they  had  all  had  too  much  already.  Hence  few  came.  But  by  inter- 
cepting the  overland  trail  near  Walla  Walla  and  opening  up  the  Nahchess 
Pass,  a  direct  road  was  offered  to  the  Sound.  This  seemed  then  of  greater 
importance  than  the  dream  of  a  railroad,  which,  admitting  its  possibility, 
the  most  sanguine  deemed  might  be  built  in  ten  years  after  its  begin- 
ning. For  the  highway  a  ferry  would  be  needed  over  the  Columbia  at 
Fort  Walla  Walla.  The  records  of  the  first  Legislative  session  at  Olympia 
will  show  a  charter  granted  to  E.  J.  Allen  and  Shorly  Ensign  for  such 
a  ferry,  and  a  scow  was  with  great  difficulty  built  for  that  purpose.  It 
is  difficult  now  to  conceive  how  valuable  such  an  inlet  would  have  been 

♦The  first  number  of  The  Columbian  was  issued  on  September  11,  1852, 
and  was  printed  on  an  ancient  Ramage  press  that  had  started  nearly  every 
other  printing  establishment  on  the  coast.  "The  governors  of  Mexico  had 
used  it  to  print  their  proclamations  before  1S34,  when  it  was  taken  to  Mon- 
terey, where  for  a  time  it  served  a  similar  purpose.  In  1846  it  went  to  San 
Francisco,  where  the  Star  and  afterwards  the  first  issues  of  the  Alta  California 
were  printed  on  it.  Finally  it  moved  on  up  the  coast  to  Portland,  where  it 
served  to  get  out  the  earlier  issues  of  the  Oregonian,  and  from  there  the  "Mary 
Taylor"  brought  it  to  Olympia.  It  was  subsequently  used  by  the  pub- 
Ushers  of  several  other  newspapers  in  the  Territory,  and  finally  it  found  a  per- 
manent resting  place  among  the  most  valued  relics  in  the  museum  of  the 
State  University." — Snowden:    History  oj  Washington,  III..  148. 


to  Washington,  which  had  none  at  all.    But  it  seemed  a  tangible  thing 
to  me,  and  into  the  project  I  threw  the  enthusiasm  and  energy  of  youth." 



The  name  of  Winthrop  Glacier  is  now  happily  established  by  force 
of  northwestern  sentiment,  after  an  attempt  at  Washington,  D.  C, 
to  displace  it.  It  illustrates  what  I  submit  is  the  correct  and  logical 
rule  to  be  adopted  in  naming  our  great  unnamed  landmarks. 

The  east  slope  of  the  mountain's  broad  dome  is  covered  by  a  vast 
neve,  which,  in  its  descent,  divides  upon  the  wedge  known  as  "Steam- 
boat Prow"  into  two  famous  glaciers.  One  of  these  feeds  the  main  or 
east  branch  of  White  River,  and  has  long  been  named  by  general  north- 
western usage  "White  River  Glacier,"  or  more  briefly,  "White  Glacier." 
This  is  the  largest  glacier  in  the  United  States,  outside  of  Alaska;  it  has 
an  ice  area  of  about  fifteen  square  miles.  Several  other  names  ("Blaine 
Glacier,"  etc.)  have  been  proposed  for  it,  but  the  original  name  has  stuck. 
The  other  glacier,  which  feeds  the  west  branch  of  the  White,  was  long 
ago  named  "Winthrop  Glacier,"  in  honor  of  the  brilliant  writer  who 
first  led  his  countrymen  to  appreciate  their  noblest  mountain. 

No  other  names  for  these  glaciers  have  ever  been  current 
those  who  visit  the  Rainier  National  Park.  But  to  make  room  for  the 
name  of  S.  F.  Emmons,  an  employee  of  the  Geological  Survey  who  climbed 
the  mountain  shortly  after  Van  Trump  and  Stevens  had  shown  the 
way,  the  Geographic  Board  several  years  ago  transferred  the  name 
"White  Glacier"  to  the  smaller  ice-stream,  and  dropped  "Winthrop 
Glacier"  from  the  Government's  maps.  A  united  protest,  however, 
from  those  who  know  the  mountain  best  has  secured  the  restoration  of 
Winthrop's  name.  It  will  doubtless  remain  undisturbed  hereafter. 
But  the  Board  still  insists  upon  "Emmons  Glacier."  Professor  Emmons 
is  a  reputable  geologist,  but  he  has  rendered  no  service  in  connection 
with  this  peak  that  is  remembered  by  those  who  know  and  visit  it; 
and  the  attempt  to  rename  its  greatest  glacier  in  his  honor,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  established  neighborhood  usage,  can  only  result  in  the  con- 
fusion of  tourists  and  the  irreverent  query:  "Who  is  Emmons,  and  why 
'Emmons  Glacier'?  "  Further,  this  attempt  to  fasten  his  name  on 
White  Glacier  violates  the  Board's  own  rule  against  naming  landmarks 
after  the  living. 


The  Geographic  Board  recently  refused  to  accept  the  name  "For- 
syth Glacier,"  given  to  the  north-side  glacier  on  Mt.  St.  Helens  by  the 
Mazama  Mountain  Club  and  the  Washington  Legislature  to  commemo- 
rate the  finest  bit  of  heroism  in  the  annals  of  American  mountaineering, 
— the  saving  of  a  human  life  on  that  mountain  in  1908  by  a  party  of 
the  Mazamas,  led  by  Mr.  Charles  E.  Forsyth  of  Castle  Rock,  Wash.,  at 
the  cost  of  almost  incredible  hardship  and  peril  to  the  rescuers.  This 
was  such  a  public  service  as  ought  particularly  to  be  honored  in  the  St. 
Helens  nomenclature.  The  reason  given  for  refusing  the  name  proposed 
by  the  Mazama  Club  and  the  Legislature  was  that  "the  Board  dis- 
likes to  adopt  the  names  of  persons  still  living."  A  few  months  later, 
the  Board  placed  the  names  of  four  "persons  still  living"  on  glaciers  in 
the  Rainier  National  Park!  The  only  one  of  these  persons  recognized 
by  the  Northwest  as  in  any  way  entitled  to  such  honor  is  Mr.  John  B. 
Flett,  the  Tacoma  botanist,  whose  work  in  classifying  the  remarkable 
flora  of  the  mountain  "parks"  is  very  properly  commemorated  in  naming 
a  hitherto  unnamed  glacier  for  him.  This  was  done  in  response  to  a 
local  request. 

There  is  a  better  rule,  as  geographers  in  general  will  no  doubt  agree, 
than  that  which  the  Geographic  Board  proclaims,  but  violates.  In 
naming  the  great  natural  features  of  our  country  which  do  not  already 
bear  significant  Indian  names,  public  service  in  connection  with  them 
is  first  of  all  entitled  to  recognition.  On  every  ground  of  patriotism 
and  public  welfare  it  is  important  that  such  service  be  honored.  This 
can  best  be  done  on  the  spot  where  the  service  is  rendered,  and  often 
in  the  place-names  of  the  district  which  has  profited  by  it.  Indeed, 
such  service  is  pretty  sure  to  be  recognized  and  commemorated  by 
neighborhood  sentiment  and  local  usage.  The  people  of  a  state  or 
district  are  certainly  entitled  to  be  heard  in  the  matter  of  their  place 
names.  Important  landmarks,  of  course,  should  not  be  burdened  with 
personal  names  at  random;  but  the  Geographic  Board's  assumption  of 
a  right  to  ignore  the  reasonable  request  of  responsible  organizations, 
or  even  of  a  state  through  its  legislature,  and  to  fix  landmark  names 
arbitrarily,  was  no  doubt  not  contemplated  in  its  creation. 

^xoKN  to  desk  from  NvHIcri  tov^RROWl 


This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 

14    TN  A  X  r  or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

4    DAY  Tel.  No.  642-3405 

J{|;tttt»         ---  ,  Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  priod  to  date  due. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

MOV    5^970  3^ 

^iX:^\^U^    IIOy2-/u>iPM4y. 

JUL  4iazi 

^,C1R.    JllHlO"^^ 

5  1  n  ]97n 

•'■-•-  cm.M.ij  I?  -1^ 

AUG  jy  1999 



UNty^P-SWitfy^oF  California  library       '